All My Little Demons
by Katie Grey
Summary: Loki is freed by Thanos, and given a new mission - to kill the Avengers. But nothing goes to plan, and when he arrives at Stark Tower he is more broken than he has ever been before. Insanity is never merciful. But Thanos is growing impatient, and Loki will have to find a way to heal before it is too late. WARNING: self-harm and mentions of torture.
1. Chapter 1

**_Full summary: _**After serving mere days of his sentence, Loki is freed by Thanos. But, instead of returning to his army of Chitauri, he has a different mission. To kill the Avengers. But nothing goes according to plan, and when Loki arrives at Stark Tower he is more broken than he has ever been before.

Insanity has no mercy.

Luckily, compassion, even from enemies, is a powerful healer, but will Loki be able to overcome his demons and accept these mortals' kindness, before Thanos grows impatient and it is too late?

_**A/N.** I was pretty devastated by Endgame, but I've been wanting to write a Loki-centered story for a long time because I've very quickly become obsessed with Marvel. And Loki. _  
_This story takes place before Endgame (right after Avengers one) because I couldn't think of anything to add to it... and I didn't like it that much. It wasn't a bad movie... I just hated the ending, and... other, Loki related things. And definitely some Captain America things. _  
_Keep in mind that this story does have an unreliable narrator. Possibly several of them._  
_Oh, and it's rated T for language, scenes of torture, and self-harm. Lots of self-hatred as well, and general dark themes and heavy angst. I won't be putting a warning before the chapters these things occur in, to avoid spoilers, so consider yourself warned. _

_And I realized I should probably clarify something: I DON'T think that mental illness makes you "broken", or any of the other terms I use throughout this story. When I'm writing from Loki's point of view I use those terms because he has a lot of self-hatred and I feel like that's how he would think of himself. Just to clarify :)_  
_Oh, and_ _I love quotes, and have added in some ones that I really like, in later chapters, for your enjoyment. Couldn't resist, sorry._  
_Now, please enjoy, the first chapter of All My Little Demons._

()()()

_Kill the Avengers._

_It matters not how. Magic, strangulation, perhaps several well-placed daggers as they sleep. I care not, as long as they are dead._

Loki tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled. The pain should have driven away his thoughts but it didn't. So Loki pulled harder, and, when it still didn't work, he resorted to scratching at his scalp, digging his nails mercilessly into the sides of his face, biting his lip until it bled.

_Kill them._

He stood and began to pace in circles like a wild animal, around the perimeter of his circular cell. Through the glass he could see nothing but a dark staircase and a small, barred window near the ceiling. The sky was blue. Earlier he had seen the sun, but now it had passed by.

The voice grew louder, insistent. It shouted at his skull. _You will kill them!_

"I would love nothing more," he murmured. Foolishly, Odin had allowed the guards to remove the muzzle and the chain that bound his wrists. If it wasn't for the spell that held back his magic, that choked it each time it tried to leap from Loki's fingers, he would be free.

_Escape. _

_Kill them._

_Now._

The voice had arrived shortly after he was locked in this cell. It never rested, always insisting. It crept into his nightmares and screamed at him. But, although it was only a side-effect of his shattered excuse for a mind, something about it was oddly familiar. Like an old, forgotten friend, come to comfort him in his madness.

Loki punched the wall.

It didn't hurt enough. _Nothing ever hurt enough. _He growled because he was a lion in a cage. The poor, pathetic lion that people ogled at with their big, sad eyes. _Oh, if only we could let him out, but this is for his own good. Poor lion is dangerous. Poor lion is a murderer and a liar and a _Frost Giant _and he deserves to die!_

"I know," he said. "I know full well." _And yet the lion never stops trying to break free._

He continued to pace.

_Watch them bleed, let them scream. Cut their screams short. Kill them. It's all you're good for. _

Loki hissed between his teeth. He walked faster, but his mind helpfully supplied him with images - Stark, writhing in agony. Rogers, lying still with his little shield snapped in half. Banner - the Hulk - oh, Loki would enjoy killing him. Perhaps he would pick him up and throw him into the concrete over and over and _over _again to hear how he screamed, and see how he cried when he lifted a shaking hand to the mutated skin of his abdomen and felt one million shards of bone because his _ribs _were broken. Yes, Loki would enjoy it.

He glared at the glass. He hated the glass.

_You sit in a cell and imagine that you deserve freedom. You are more amusing than you know. _

"Shut _up_!" Loki shouted. His voice was so hoarse that he winced.

He pounded his fists against the glass, he kicked it, he stepped back and ran so he could throw all his weight against it. It didn't work, but it was worth it if only for the bruises that stung and distracted him from his own mind.

_Don't worry, I'm still here. _

_I won't leave you _all _alone. You would only fall faster._

Loki screamed as he hurled himself at the glass. He pulled at his hair and scratched at his face but nothing could dispel the image his _mind_ eagerly provided him - darkness and a churning dread in his stomach as the world grew small above him and he disappeared into darkness.

What was the _point?_ Did the all-knowing Allfather truly not understand that isolating Loki in such a small space with no room to _breathe_ would only fracture his mind further?

_He wants you like this. His little broken doll. A toy for the dogs to play with._

_Chew and chew and chew until it's ripped to useless, unwanted, shattered shreds._

_Do not give him the satisfaction. Escape._

_Kill them._

_Now._

Loki laughed aloud. He had not been put in here long ago - less than two days, he thought, although he was not sure - but he had already tried everything. He had tried to reach out with his magic, but experienced instead the horrible sensation of his it being pulled and stuffed back into his skin.

He had tried to break the glass but it was impossible. He had scoured every inch for a weakness, he had inspected the door mechanism for a fatal flaw. Nothing. Nothing.

He had had no visitors.

_Isolation is the surest way to madness._

_The Allfather knows this._

Kill them. Not just the Avengers. Once the lion was free, it would prowl to Odin's throne, rip out his heart with his teeth, and laugh as it did it.

_There it is._

_The insanity you're known for._

_You've lost your mind._

_Good for you._

()()()

Whenever his thoughts wandered, he would remember how he had felt, standing tall and alone at the head of his Chitauri army and watching the people of Midgard fall to their knees before him.

_You crave it._

_It is your rightful place, after all. _

_Above._

Loki flexed the fingers that should have held his scepter. Breathed in the stale air that should have burned hotly with his magic. It was all so empty and so small. He felt like the walls were closing in.

He looked out the window. Now, the sky was gray.

He was no longer above anything. They had put him in the deepest dungeon, but had made his cell out of glass so he could be continuously watched. They were still afraid of him. He smiled,

How long would Odin keep him here? How long before he or Thor came to see him, to point and laugh at the Jotun runt? Loki hoped it was soon. He had killed thousands and was a murderer and a psychopath and a worthless Frost Giant, but they believed him to be important, to be "family", which made them more gullible than the smallest child. So easy to hurt.

Especially Thor. Oh, if only Loki were free. He would take Thor's hammer and bash in his skull with it. He would be able to wield it. Not because he was _worthy_, but because his magic and his body and his mind had been shut behind bars and crammed into this circle of glass, and he knew that once he was free he would feel infinitely stronger, with so much room to _stretch out._

Loki paced.

()()()

It was the third day when he saw the glow of torchlight as someone descended the staircase. There were heavy footsteps, and the shadow they cast was large. Distinctive.

Instantly, he stopped pacing and straightened, chin held high.

_Pretending you aren't broken._

_The liar always lies._

It was Thor.

Loki took a deep, quiet breath. He tried to gather all his pieces together, fighting for an imitation of sanity. Now that Thor was actually here, Loki did _not _want to see him.

"Brother," Thor said, in a voice raspier than Loki's had been a day ago. He held the torch at eye-level and it cast deep shadows that exposed the bags under his eyes. He wore one of his ratty sweaters from Midgard. Mjolnir dangled from his fingers.

_Be wary of the big, scary lion. Yes, he's in a cage and he hasn't eaten in days and he's perfectly _mindless, _but you're the prince and we wouldn't want him to bite you, now would we? It's probably a good idea to bring a deadly weapon with you just in case. Strike him between the eyes if he moves._

Thor took several steps forward and stopped at arm's reach of the glass. His eyes swept slowly over Loki and hovered at his face.

"What in all the nine realms _possessed _you, Loki? Why would you do this?" Thor breathed deeply and adjusted his grip on the hammer. "I swore I would not visit you until I was calm enough to prevent myself from _shouting _at you for hours on end!" Thor practically shouted, quickly becoming angry, as he always did. "But if I was to keep that promise, I fear I would never have visited you at all!"

Loki met Thor's eyes directly. He didn't even blink. "And wouldn't that have been tragic," he said.

Either Thor was silently fuming or too thick to process the sarcasm. Either way, he didn't move for several seconds, aside from constantly adjusting his grip on the hammer. His other fist was clenched. Ah, so he was definitely silently fuming. Good. He should be angry. Loki hoped the memories of his poor, broken brother's actions kept him up at night. He hoped that was why Thor had bags under his eyes.

"I see I should not have come," Thor said, bitterly.

"You were always an expert at stating the obvious."

Thor closed his eyes briefly. Was that a trick of the light? Or was it, truly, the glimmer of a tear on Thor's cheek?

Loki laughed aloud. "Crying for your murderer of a little brother?" He was not Thor's brother, but he knew it would hurt him more if he pretended to be.

"I must go," Thor muttered. "A guard will arrive shortly with food." His eyes met Loki's for a second longer. Then he turned and practically ran up the stairs, torchlight bobbing wildly.

()()()

Frigga followed not long after.

She stopped only a few feet from the glass, and reached out a hand to touch it. She left her hand there for a moment, unspeaking.

Unlike Thor, she had no bags beneath her eyes, no obvious signs of distress. Loki did not care, because he did not _care_ if she mourned for her poor, unwanted, Jotun runt. That was not what he was. He was a _king_. He had held power in his hands and, even if he had to wait for millenia, he would reclaim it. He would reclaim it and, once he had, he would kill them all.

_Yes._

_Kill them._

He was a king, and he did not care if Frigga mourned for him. Once he escaped, he would climb the steps to his golden throne, _above _all others. He would look down at her and throw his head back and laugh.

"You have injured your brother grievously," she said softly, without meeting his eyes.

_That was the point of stabbing him._

Loki smiled, for that thought was his own.

But the voice quickly beat him back into submission.

_Look how she fears for her favored son. She could care less about you. All that matters is Thor._

_She cannot even look you in the eye._

_She thinks you are a _monster_._

_She is right._

"Why do you smile?" she asked, in a steady voice. She pressed both hands to the glass. "Thor is hurting terribly. Not because of his wounds, although those were indeed grievous. But he hurts for you. For his brother."

Loki flinched. "I am not his brother. And thank the Norns, for I would despise being related to such an idiotic, insufferable oaf. Let him cry."

Something hardened in Frigga's eyes. She backed away from the glass. "You are so ungrateful for the love we have shown you. Loki… yes, you are adopted. But does that not mean Odin must have loved you when he first saw you? Otherwise, why bring you out of the cold? Why raise you as his own?"

"Do not speak to me of Odin."

"He would see you."

A laugh burst from Loki's lips. "He may _see_ me, if he wishes." He raised his arms and turned in a wide circle, aware that, after three days without food, without sleep, he looked like the ruins of his former self. "Yes, he may look at me, he may stare at me like I am a creature in a cage to be _observed_ or _studied._" he began to pace in small, agitated circles. A shark, circling its prey.

_A criminal, circling within his little glass cell._

"Loki… you know he does not…"

Loki cut her off. "I will not see him. I will not speak to him. I will not acknowledge him. Tell him this, when he next asks to see me. Tell him his poor, pitiful little foster child would rather remain alone for a thousand years and slowly go _mad_ then look upon his face!" Loki stopped, breathing heavily, his back to Frigga. His hands were shaking, and he stared at them like they were a rather grotesque beetle he had never seen before. His hands were always steady. Always calm, always in keeping with his facade. But not now. Now, his hands shook with his anger. His many disguises were slipping away because he was no longer sane enough to keep the emotion from spilling out like so much boiling water.

"Very well. I will tell him to wait. But Thor would see you again, and I will not prevent him from coming, whatever you may say."

Loki clenched his fists. Why, _why_ would Thor want to come? Had Loki not been clear enough?

"He loves you," Frigga said.

Loki spun around. His eyes darted wildly from hers to the floor to the staircase to the torch on the wall. Its fire left a bright spot on his eyes. "And how would you know? How can you even pretend to know? You know nothing. But know this: Thor does not love me. Not after what I did." He grinned, raising his arms. "And I do not regret a moment of it."

_The truth, for once._

_The broken toy loves being broken._

Frigga nodded silently. There were no tears in her eyes. Instead, her head was held high as she turned and walked out of the dungeon. The sound of the door closing echoed long after she had gone.

Loki hurled himself at the glass.

()()()

The guard unlocked a small hatch in the glass that lined the floor and slid a tray through the opening. Loki glanced at it - a bland, soggy sandwich; a wilted, dried out apple; and a glass of water. The guard stared at him for a few moments, then left. But Loki did not touch the food.

He didn't exactly care why he would rather have sawed off several of his own fingers than take anything they offered him, but he supposed it was because eating their food would feel like giving in. The hunger pangs were tolerable, so the food remained untouched. At first, he also refused to drink the water. But he was so thirsty from three days without any that he soon succumbed and took a few small sips.

Then he paced.

_Kill them. _

_Come on, you can do it. You've already proven that much - many times over._

He held his chin high and saw thousands of faces beneath him. As one, they bowed to the ground. Reverence. He was a king. In that moment, with his scepter raised high, he felt so strong. Stronger than he had ever felt before.

_And now look at you._

_So weak. So broken. _

Loki barreled into the glass. Pain erupted in his shoulder, so he backed up and tried again. When he hit, something cracked and he screamed; but the spell the Allfather had cast on his cell only caused the wound to knit itself back together again.

Loki gritted his teeth and threw himself at the wall, eager for any relief from the voice in his mind. He punched the glass and one of his knuckles broke. Pain cut through his mind. He was a piece of shattered glass, breaking itself into ever smaller pieces.

Someone descended the stairs. "What the hell are you doing?" It was a guard, holding a torch and peering at him from behind furrowed brows.

Loki clenched his broken fist. Aside from that, he held an emotionless facade more effective than any of his projections. His face was deadpan, expressionless, like his emotions were a window and he had pulled down a shutter. He stood tall in the center of the room, head held high.

The guard took a brazen step forward. "It was like you were trying to break the glass," he said, with a mocking smile. "It's indestructible. Especially without your _magic._" He said the word with distaste. "So you'd better give up trying, because you are going to be here for a long, long time."

Yes, Loki knew.

_A miracle that you can know _anything _when you are so fractured._

_But soon your mind will be gone completely._

_And you will know nothing at all._

The guard smirked at him, and left. When Loki heard the door shut, he backed up against the wall and threw himself at the opposite side, viciously, screaming.

The glass broke. Loki fell through and collapsed on a pile of shards. He stumbled to his feet and turned in a tight circle, warily, scanning all corners of the room. Someone must have broken it. It was not possible that his crude attempts at relief from his madness had broken the glass.

More footsteps. Loki waited behind the door, and when it swung open, he charged at the guard and pushed him to the ground before he had time to react. Loki forced his neck into the crook of his elbow and squeezed.

Strangulation was a slow, messy process. The guard's hands gripped Loki's elbow, white-knuckled, desperately trying to free himself. He managed to scream once before Loki squeezed harder. After several minutes he fell limp, staring at nothing.

_And doesn't it feel good? And doesn't it feel right?_

_He lies dead on the floor and you feel whole again._

"Well done."

Loki looked up. Ebony Maw was standing in the center of what used to be his cell, white, scabbed hands folded behind his back. His small, black eyes met Loki's mockingly from an eternally sneering face.

Loki smiled broadly. "So this is the plan then? Thanos has come to retrieve me?"

"Not exactly. You will not return to the Chitauri. Thanos has a much greater purpose for you."

()()()

A few minutes later, Thor pushed his way past the guards that stood in front of the stairs to Loki's cell. He knew Loki did not want to see him, but he could not stay away. This was his _brother_. This vicious, bitter thing, locked away in a cage. And Thor would visit him, no matter what cruel things he said. Loki was a liar, he knew that. Could it not be that the terrible words he spoke were lies as well?

He wanted desperately to find a _reason_, something that could redeem his little brother. He needed to know why he had attacked New York and killed all those people and he needed Loki to have some excuse - perhaps he had been under mind control, or the Chitauri had forced him to do it, or Thanos himself. Something. _Anything_. Because Thor's brother was _not_ a murderer. Thor's brother would never do this. And, like it or not, Thor's brother was the same person who was locked in that cell, who, Frigga had told him, paced wildly like a caged animal, who looked at Thor with pure hatred, who did not even want to see him.

And who claimed, even believed, such awful things: that his family had never loved him, that they thought him inferior because he was a Frost Giant, that they had raised him and loved him out of pity, nothing more.

Thor longed to spend more time with Loki. To help him understand that they _did_ love him. That Thor loved him. But all Loki wanted to do was drive him away.

Thor paused on the staircase. What could he _possibly _say to make Loki understand? Loki would only refuse to listen. But Thor still kept walking down the steps, even though he knew it was useless, because Thor needed his brother and _had _to try to bring him back.

But when he descended the staircase, his heart dropped sickeningly into his stomach. The dungeon was filled with broken glass, glinting red with torchlight.

Loki was gone.

()()()

_Thanks for reading! Please review :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A few things. Firstly, I'm planning on updating once a week. Probably on Fridays or Saturdays. However, I do have school until the end of May (yeah, I go to a private school and we get out really early lol), and during the summer I'm gonna get my first job (sarcastic "yayyy"). But I think I should still be able to update fairly regularly. I normally stay up until 3 am writing, anyway :) (because who cares about getting a good night's sleep when you can write fanfiction instead?)_

_Secondly, I will make sure to respond to any reviews I receive, but if they are a guest review and I can't, I'll put my reply at the end of the chapter._

_Thirdly, I updated the list of things to watch out for (the list is at the beginning of chapter one). _

**_Fourthly, I'd like to thank tincturedwords for being an awesome beta reader!_**

_And, fifthly, thanks for all your follows and favorites and reviews! As a writer, I live off that shit. _

_Please enjoy chapter two!_

* * *

Thor Odinson stormed down the hallway, hammer in hand, face the very picture of rage. Outside, thunder boomed. Everyone had better stay out of his way, because he would not hesitate to strike them down if they said so much as a single _word._

The great golden doors to the throne room were locked. Behind them, Thor could hear quiet voices. His father and mother were probably visiting with ambassadors. They would all be very angry if he disturbed them.

Thor raised his fist and pounded on the door. The sound echoed through the palace.

Oh, yes, Thor Odinson was angry. If the Chitauri army attacked now, he could have defeated them in mere moments and he would have laughed as he did it.

Lightning blazed outside.

The door swung slowly open. "What is the meaning of this?" Odin demanded, from where he sat causally upon his throne with his head propped up on his elbow.

Frigga stood next to the throne. Her hand moved to grip Odin's forearm tightly. From the expression on her face, it seemed she already knew what Thor was about to say.

"I hope you will understand if I must ask you to leave for a few minutes," Frigga addressed two dwarves, who stood at the top of the stairs.

Thor waited impatiently as they shuffled away. There was another great clap of thunder.

When they were gone, he dropped his hammer to the ground. It hit with a resounding _clang. _"Loki escaped," he said. Both his fists clenched into fists.

Thor Odinson was very angry indeed.

* * *

Ebony Maw had flown them to Midgard. Briefly, Loki marveled at the amount of magic contained in those paper-white hands, that Maw could transport them so quickly. Then he saw where he was. _New York._

Only four days ago he had ruled this city. He had looked down on his people, and they had kneeled before him. He had been so high _above_. Loki breathed in the air, his hungry eyes scanned the skyline. He itched to call down the Chitauri once again and finish what he had started. To teach the Mortals their place.

"You like what you see?" a deep, rumbling voice from behind him.

Loki turned swiftly and dropped to one knee, eyes on Thanos' boots. "It is but the beginning." He bowed his head low, low to the ground, acutely aware that he was without his armor, instead wearing a dirty black shirt. His hair fell around his face in thin strands. Luckily, he could not see his face, for he likely had bags under his eyes deeper than Thor's.

"You are right. But before the city can fall - before this world can fall - I have need of you. Rise."

Loki stood. He itched to cast a glamour over himself - to erase the bags beneath his eyes, to slick back his hair, to drape his armor over his shoulders. He wished he could appear to stand taller, to have no sign of fatigue or hunger or lunacy in his eyes.

_Are you so ashamed of me?_

"Has your magic returned?" Thanos rumbled.

Loki kept his eyes respectfully low, at the titan's feet."Yes," he lied.

"Good. It should be easy for you to kill them."

_Kill._

_Kill them._

Without thinking, Loki raised his eyes. "Kill who, my king?"

Slowly, Thanos bent so that they were at eye level. He was _huge_, each hand larger than Loki's face. He could crush the life out of him without even trying. But Loki was not afraid. He was _eager_.

"Take a guess," Thanos said.

Loki took a quick step back as the voice laughed darkly in his mind - laughed at his brother, who was dead, beside the bodies of Stark and Rogers and Banner and the rest. Loki stood over them, so tall, so great, so above. Unknowingly, he clenched his fists as if he were strangling someone. His eyes darted from the skyline and back again as he imagined that he could see the distinctive shape of Stark Tower, jutting out towards the clouds.

_Kill them._

_Kill the Avengers._

_Now._

Loki smiled.

* * *

It was one in the afternoon, and Tony still hadn't left his room.

It wasn't that he was lazy. He itched to do something. To fix something, or maybe take something apart. He wanted to be in his lab, fiddling with a highly dangerous weapon while crappy rock music blared from his radio.

"Can't forget the crappy rock music," he muttered to himself, as he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "If you tilt your head, that salsa stain kind of looks like a tortilla chip…" he trailed off. Why was there a salsa stain on his ceiling? He had no idea.

The truth was, Tony couldn't summon the will to move.

Four days since the attack on New York. Only four days since he had maybe, probably, _definitely_ been about to die, when he stopped rising and started falling, towards the portal that was closing too quickly. He had stared death in the face _again_ that day. Just a second later and… _poof._ No more Tony Stark.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 1:11.

Bruce was downstairs somewhere, probably sipping a mug of tea. Tony should go talk to him. That would be fun, wouldn't it? A few jokes, tossed back and forth. Instead of acknowledging the elephant in the room, they would simply shoot it in the brain with a machine gun. And that was nice. Not talking about anything serious. Neither of them were very skilled in the department of serious stuff.

Mr. Stars and Stripes was here, too. He didn't exactly have anywhere to live, and Tony wasn't about to kick him out after they had just kicked alien ass together. He was probably in the gym, developing those washboard abs and that distinctive, oh-so American ass.

Clint and Natasha had checked out right after the Avengers' visit to the shawarma joint, four days ago. Muttered something about a top secret mission and gallivanted away down the street.

And the crazy lightning god guy that Tony still couldn't wrap his head around - Thor - had disappeared into thin air; thankfully, with his maniac of a brother in tow. Tony liked Thor. He just hoped that when he next came to visit, it would be _without_ his brother. Tony hoped to never see Loki again.

Tony sighed and folded his arms behind his head. God, he needed a _shower._ He smelled like death. Just another reason not to go downstairs. He wouldn't want everyone else to faint.

What a brilliant excuse.

"Yeah, well, I am pretty smart. After all, I'm a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist," he joked to himself, but the words felt lifeless.

* * *

Bruce took a sip of tea. Ginger. He held the mug tightly in his hands because the warmth felt nice, and so did the steam on his face. He set it back on the table and settled back into the cushions with a sigh.

He was in Tony's lab because the machinery interested him, sitting on an ordinary, brown couch that seemed out of place among the bright red metal and the hum of motors. Pepper had probably forced Tony to drag it down here. Bruce smiled wryly.

She was on a business trip. Tony had just fallen through a magical, alien portal, and Pepper was on a business trip. But Bruce suspected that the reason Tony was still in his room wasn't that he missed her too much to come outside. Sure, he _missed _her. Obviously. But Bruce knew that his desire for food would have outweighed that, any day of the week.

Tony might be sitting in his room, getting depressed over the battle that happened four days ago, but Bruce hadn't thought about it in a long time. He was good at controlling his thoughts and emotions - he _had_ to be. Otherwise, the Other Guy would come out and start smashing.

Bruce took another sip of tea. He ignored the way the mug shook in his hands. Instead, he set it down on a table in front of him and took a few deep, calming breaths.

Something creaked. Bruce glanced up. Steve was standing at the bottom of the staircase. Surprisingly, he had managed to make it most of the way without a sound, but the bottom step had betrayed him.

Steve walked carefully between the scattered metal devices and the discarded iron suits. He stopped directly in front of Bruce and surveyed him for a moment. "How's it going?" he asked, at last.

Bruce offered him a half-smile, as it was all he could muster. "I'm fine. How's Tony?"

"Still in his room."

"Do you think he'd come out if we ordered some pizza?" Bruce asked. He wasn't sure if he was joking.

Steve seemed to think he was, because he laughed. "I do think that might be our best bet."

Bruce smiled ruefully.

* * *

He was to, somehow, enter the tower without getting shot on sight.

Then he would find a way to kill them.

That was what Thanos had ordered. Then he and Maw had both disappeared, leaving Loki alone in the ruins of his city.

Loki had a knife in his sleeve and another in his shoe, given to him by Thanos. These were his only weapons, for whatever spell Odin had cast over him had done serious harm to his magic. If he summoned all of his strength, he may be able to use it to shield himself for a short time, but he wouldn't bet his life on it.

_Strange. You seem to bet your life on so many things. _

Loki swallowed. Thanos and Maw had disappeared, and now Loki was in the restroom of a Midgardian restaurant he had happened to notice, examining his reflection. He still wore the black clothes they had given him. His hair fell in thin strands around his face. But the most interesting thing was that his shoulder was one huge, purple bruise. It throbbed. Loki supposed that once he had left the cell, Odin's enchantments had not been able to mend him.

_Odin_, that wretched excuse for a king. _Frigga,_ his weak little wife. _Thor_, an idiot to the end… and yet they would still try to _help_ him. Put him behind bars as if that would keep his madness at bay, and then _dare_ to visit him? Didn't they understand that they were the reason Loki had lost his sanity?

_Does the poor, murderous little child feel unwanted?_

_How sad._

Loki punched the glass. Cracks raced up the mirror and separated, like the many branches of the World Tree. His image was distorted.

_Broken._

His hand burned with pain, and yet the voice kept coming. Loki glared at the cracked reflection of his own eyes.

A stall door swung open. Loki whirled around and saw a middle-aged man emerge, brows furrowed. "You okay?" he asked, nodding at the glass. "It kind of sounded like you…"

Quickly, Loki turned away to hide his face, in case the man recognized him. "I'm _fine,_" he hissed. He purposefully knocked into the man with his shoulder as he left and slammed the door behind him.

Stark Tower was only a mile or so away, in the center of the city. He walked quickly, pushing his way past others on the sidewalk. They glared at him but he didn't care. He owned them. It didn't matter what they thought of him.

Like it or not, he was their king.

The voice did not speak. Instead, Loki heard what he thought was _laughter._ He stopped, grabbed a piece of his hair and _jerked_ it ruthlessly. He kept pulling until the laughter was drowned out by the pounding in his skull.

And then he was at Stark's doorstep. Loki pulled on the handle. Locked. He looked through the window to see a quiet, gray, empty lobby.

He could break the lock. Find them. Attack them. But if he tried that, they would only kill him. As much as he despised to acknowledge it, he knew that he could not hold them back in his weakened state. Perhaps he could take one or two of them down to Hel with him, but he would be hopelessly outnumbered, and the rest would live. He could not complete Thanos' mission that way.

_Get them to let you in._

_Their soft hearts will turn them into fools._

Loki barely had time to suck in a breath before manic laughter burst from his lips. He tried to hold it back, but he could not.

* * *

Loki walked away from the door and into a nearby alley. The loss of his ability to produce a glamour meant that he would have to create his own, but that was no object.

He checked to make sure that he was alone, then he hurled himself at a brick wall. He grunted at the impact, then did it again. And again. Closed his eyes and threw his head back until there was a satisfying _crack_ of an impact. His madness was gone and blood dropped down the back of his neck.

When the pain washed over him like warm water, he closed his eyes for a moment and smiled because the voice had been washed away with it. He was saner than he had been in four long days. He was sane. He was whole again.

No longer _broken._

Finally, after barreling into the wall again, something in his arm cracked. Pain split his head in two. Loki had to lean against the wall and take deep, deep breaths just to get some air into his lungs.

_Think,_ he thought. _If someone found you, someone who despised you, what would they do to you?_

His eyes fell upon a broken bottle lying in the shadows, and a single shard of glass.

_Perfect._

* * *

**Despite the fact that you ordered me to "Never say a fucking word again or I swear, I'll give you the voice of a Japanese schoolgirl", I am afraid I must inform you that someone is waiting at the door. **JARVIS announced, in a monotone voice. If it was more monotone than was normal, Tony certainly didn't notice. He was too busy sitting up and stretching.

"That was a good one," he said, when the sound of his back cracking sounded like a bag of popcorn in a microwave. He waved solemnly at the tortilla chip on his ceiling, then reached for the bottle of beer on his bedside table. His eyes found the clock. 1:29. As he watched, the numbers changed to 1:30. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Then Tony realized what was wrong with this equation. "JARVIS, who is it?" he asked. If someone was standing at his door, JARVIS was supposed to tell him who it was.

**There are no matching profiles in my databanks.**

Tony frowned. "Okay… do you know why they're here?" he asked, then took a drink from his beer bottle because he could drink at 1:30 in the afternoon if he fucking wanted to and no one could stop him.

**There is an 88% chance that their reason for arriving on the premises is that they are in danger of an imminent and painful death.**

Tony nearly spit out his beer.

"Shit," he muttered, once he had swallowed it. "Guess I'm getting up, then."

* * *

Tony wandered into the kitchen when the pizza was nearly done. Bruce glanced at the timer. Only two minutes left. He smiled at the mug in his hands. Tony must have smelled the pizza. Deep dish pepperoni, his favorite.

"Morning," he said, and chuckled softly at his own joke. Steve, who sat across from him with one elbow on the table and a half-eaten apple in his hand, looked up and grinned when he saw Tony.

That was when Bruce realized that Tony was walking straight through the kitchen and towards the elevator. He looked dazed, as if he hadn't taken the time to properly wake up. He was still in his robe, and he had a bottle of beer clutched tightly in his hand

Ah. So, less of an, "I'll get dressed and have pizza with my friends like a mature, functioning adult," thing, and more of an, "I'm practically asleep but I have something important to do so I'm going to drink five bottles of beer and hope I don't fall down all fifty flights of stairs," thing.

"Where are you going?" he called after Tony, just as he was getting in the elevator.

Tony stepped inside and turned to meet Bruce's eyes. "Wait here," he said, putting out a hand as if to stop Bruce from coming any closer. There was something strained about his voice.

"No problem."

The elevator doors closed.

"What was that about?" Steve asked, without taking his eyes off the doors. There was a crease of confusion between his eyebrows.

The timer beeped.

"I don't have a clue," Bruce replied. He walked to the oven and took out the pizza. "But Tony had better hurry up and grab a slice because damn, does this look good."

He forced a smile at his joke, but couldn't bring himself to laugh.

* * *

45… 44… 43...

A million possible scenarios ran around in Tony's mind, screaming their heads off.

Someone was being held hostage.

Someone had been attacked in an alleyway.

Someone had a deathly illness.

Someone was having a heart attack.

Someone was bleeding out.

They were all awful to think about, and the worst part was that each of the "someone's" somehow ended up on Tony's doorstep, each breath likely to be their last.

Why was Tony answering the door, again? He didn't like _death._ Didn't like thinking about it. Didn't like being around it. Sure, he liked preventing it, but didn't everyone else on earth, as long as they weren't a psychopath? Perhaps he should have told Bruce or Steve what had happened and asked them to answer the door, but he had been so freaked out that he hadn't thought.

And now the elevator was descending agonizingly slowly.

25… 24… 23...

Tony fidgeted. He shifted his weight from side to side, his eyes darted from the door to the ground to the ceiling, he selected one of his fingers as a victim and bit down on the nail.

This must be really bad, because Tony hardly ever bit his nails. Pepper had helped him to break his habit, with constant nagging and bottles of that clear nail polish that tasted bitter. So much for that.

But thinking of Pepper did help to calm him, if only by a fraction. Good. Someone was still in danger out there, but at least Tony wouldn't have a _panic attack _before he could help them.

9… 8… 7…

Speaking of Pepper, something sensible popped into his mind. It was probably a good idea to wear his suit, just in case of… well, imminent, painful death.

He pressed the two buttons on the watch on his wrist, and a thin sheet of metal quickly coated his arm, his body, his face.

2… 1.

_Ding._

The doors swung open, and Tony clunked his way through the lobby to the front door. Apparently he had used up all his sensibility for the day, because he didn't even glance through a window before opening it. He immediately wished he had.

Because someone was lying on his doorstep, and he recognized them. Sure, they were covered in bruises and cuts. Sure, their sleeve was ripped to reveal a purple, bloody mess. Sure, their arms and legs were lined with gashes that still oozed blood. There was even blood on their face and in their short-cropped black hair. But Tony could never have forgotten that face, not in a million years.

_Loki._

He turned on his heel and slammed the door.

* * *

_Star: thanks for telling me! I went back into the document on this site, using my tablet, and it was going SO slowly and glitching so badly that I'm surprised there weren't more typos like that! I'm not even joking - typing that one sentence took me at least five minutes because my tablet would lock up for a full thirty seconds after each word - not exaggerating. Anyway, I'm glad you find it interesting! I haven't even used any of my page-long list of angsty ideas yet. :)_

Please leave a review! I'd love to know what you think. :)


	3. Chapter 3

_I usually don't spend much time outlining but I spent a longg time outlining this. There's so much I'm excited to get to!_

_Huge thanks to tincturedwords for being an amazing beta reader! Without them, this chapter would have been full of plot holes, lol._

_Also, can I just say that I love writing Tony? :)_

()()()

"Holy shit… holy fucking shit… _Bruce!_" Tony cried, as he bolted from the elevator and skidded to a halt in the middle of the kitchen. "Holy fuck… you'll never guess what - are you even listening to me?"

Bruce and Steve were sitting on the counter, each chewing on slices of pizza.

"Okay, we are _not _doing this," Tony said as he marched up to Bruce and ripped the pizza out of his hands.

"Hey!" Bruce cried, indignantly. "That was my…"

Tony threw it to the ground. It landed with a squelch_._ Steve was frozen in disbelief, so Tony grabbed his slice and threw it, too, just because he could, and because he wanted to punch something, but throwing food was less destructive.

Things were definitely serious when Tony wasted perfectly good pizza.

"What happened?" Bruce asked.

He slid down from the counter and looked worriedly into Tony's eyes.

"Just come see for yourself," Tony managed to say without shouting out of anger or disbelief or fear_._ He should have just told them what had happened, but he couldn't. He couldn't say it, because that would make it real. He desperately hoped it wasn't real. And besides, there was nothing like a dash of unnecessary suspense to lighten everybody's mood.

They followed him without any further questions. He appreciated that. And, somehow, having people beside him in the elevator made the ride a lot more bearable.

He tried not to think about the ride back up, only a few minutes ago, when he had felthis heart pounding and had been convincedthat the walls were closing in around him. About to crush him in their cold, metal embrace. He had practically ripped off his armor because he felt so closed in.

Bruce had this determined look on his face like he was ready for whatever was coming. He wasn't. And if Bruce saw Loki, he would definitely Hulk out. Tony almost smiled at the image - Bruce throwing Loki around like he was a football - but he would rather not sacrifice his tower, or end up being pummeled by the Other Guy.

"Bruce? You might wanna stay here. You _should_ stay here."

Steve shot him a suspicious glance. "Why? What's out there?"

He glanced between Tony and Bruce.

_3… 2… 1… Ding._

The doors slid open.

"Just stay in the lobby," Tony said to Bruce. "We've got some really comfy chairs. Pepper picked them out, so you know they're top-notch. You'll be fine." He smiled encouragingly at Bruce, who avoided his eyes.

Tony felt awful. He knew that Bruce hated the thought that he was dangerous, that he might Hulk out at any second. But what else was he supposed to do? There was no need for the Hulk - Loki hadn't exactly been in tip-top shape - so Tony didn't really want him around.

Bruce nodded, swallowing dryly. "You really won't tell me what this is?"

"'Fraid not," Tony said.

"Promise me it's nothing you two can't handle?" he asked.

"I promise," Tony said.

He didn't think about whether or not he was telling the truth.

Bruce walked to the other end of the lobby and sat in a chair. He didn't look up from the ground.

Tony and Steve crossed to the door, but Tony didn't open it.

"Tony, what is this? Is it dangerous? Should I be worried?" Steve asked from beside him.

"Hold your shield if it makes you feel better."

"Why is it on your doorstep? Is it a package?"

"I don't know. And no, although that's a really funny word to use once you know the context."

"Are you planning to bring it inside?"

"Never in a million years."

"Why won't you tell me what it is?"

"This isn't an interrogation, Steve."

Steve met his eyes solemnly. "Works for me,"

Tony put a hand on the handle and he pulled.

He purposefully looked at the ground so he wouldn't have to see, but he heard Steve suck in a breath. Felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"What… _What, _Tony? Who are they? And why did you leave them… we have to help them!"

Tony was about to reply, he really was_,_ but Steve cut him off by racing out the door.

Tony looked.

The bruises had turned to a wince-worthy purple, the cuts were a maze of red lines like a map, the blood a river of red like a can of tomato soup had been dumped out on the ground beside him. But he still had the same face. The same lips that had smiled as he struck innocent people down. The same eyes that had looked at the ruins of Manhattan and somehow seen something _good._

Oh, and now Steve's stupid, too-nice-for-his-own-good hands were under Loki's arms and lifting him up. Steve hefted the demigod into his arms and carried him into Stark stepped back to avoid accidentally touching Loki. Steve didn't look at him.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing? We can't -"

Steve kept walking.

"Wait, not near Bruce!"

Steve was heading for the lobby. Tony raced after him, trying not to see Loki's head as it lolled back and forth with each step, the dried blood on his face, and the exhaustion that simmered within his eyes.

Eyes that saw nothing but destruction and evil, eyes that had looked at Coulson and decided to kill him, eyes that deserved to never open again.

Bruce was walking towards them, his face a muddled mix of emotions. He must have heard what Tony had said… _Wait, not near Bruce,_ as if he was a dangerous animal that was going to eat them.

His eyes moved down to Loki's face, and he froze mid-step.

Steve stopped when he stopped. "What's wrong?" he demanded, tightening his grip on Loki. "Get out of the way."

"Look at his face," Tony muttered, through his clenched teeth. His heart was pounding, and he wavered as he was hit by a wave of nausea. He didn't think he could bring himself to say the name out loud, because that would make it all so real.

And it couldn't be real. This could not be happening. He was hallucinating, he was seeing things because he was so drunk, he was dreaming. The alternative was too insane to even consider.

Steve looked. His eyes traced the demigod's features, and there was no sign that he had seen anything out of the ordinary aside from the way his hands shook around Loki's shoulders, but he practically dropped him on the floor when he laid him down. Blood stained the carpet almost immediately, spreading outwards like a blooming flower. Loki's head lolled to the side, and the lines of his throat stood out like ropes, stretched taut. Steve backed away quickly, as if Loki was a ticking time bomb.

"Why is he here?" Steve demanded, stepping towards Tony accusingly. "Explain this."

"You think _I _know why he's here?" Tony shot back. "Do you think if I knew I would be standing around like a…"

"He's at your tower, Stark. You must know something."

"And why is that? Why do I have to have all the answers? Why can't I be clueless when insane alien demigods fall out of the sky and land in front of my tower?"

"Guys!" Bruce shouted. Tony got the sense that he had said it before, but they hadn't heard.. Bruce was shaking, eyes full of fear. He held up his hands. They were green.

Tony and Steve could only stand helpless as he turned and ran for the elevator, and pressed frantically at the button. Tony felt a wave of sympathy. But when Bruce's back arched grotesquely and his skin stretched taut around muscular limbs, Tony remembered himself and pressed the button on his watch again. Sheets of metal quickly coated his skin. Steve, who must have forgotten his shield, grimaced at him.

"Sorry, buddy," Tony said, his words morphing into a brassy, robotic voice. "But here's the plan: I tire him out, and you knock him out with a punch to the head. Bruce'll wake up with a nasty bump, but whatcha gonna…"

Tony swore when a big green fist crashed into his face.

()()()

Steve watched as the two battled it out in the lobby, fists flying, bright beams of light flashing. His fists clenched and unclenched, painfully aware of his lack of a shield. There wasn't much he could do to help at this point.

Except, perhaps, he could do something about Loki, who was currently bleeding out on the floor.

Steve pressed himself against the wall to avoid getting pummeled. Tony was yelling something about Shrek. The Hulk was roaring mindlessly. A beam of energy went through the was exposed in the middle of the floor. It was a miracle no one had stepped on him yet, and flattened him like a pancake.

Out of pure impulse, Steve darted forward, scooped him up in his arms, and raced for the stairs. He took all thirty-nine flights two at a time without slowing down.

Steve heard the Hulk's roaring, but he didn't stop. He didn't stop because Loki's breathing sounded like someone else was shaking a cup of dice. He didn't stop because he were bleeding so heavily that Steve's arms were slick with it, but he didn't complain because he had to hurry or he would would die. All Steve did was glance over his shoulder and exhale in relief because the Hulk wasn't chasing him. Then he kept running.

Into a white room with a small bed in the corner and table heaped with silver equipment and machinery and little beeping devices. Steve blinked at it, he was from the forties and he had no clue how any of this worked.

He laid Loki down on the bed.

Now that the adrenaline rush was fading, and the instincts that told him to, "Save everyone and get out and run and make sure no one dies," had quieted, Steve practically shook. He clenched his fists and turned in a furious circle, itching for his shield.

Why had he done that?

He should have left Loki there to die. Shouldn't he?

But after a few minutes of glaring furiously at the unsuspecting demigod in the hospital bed, that part of him was silenced.

_No._

Steve couldn't just… let him die. That wasn't what Steve did. That wasn't who he was. Sure, if Loki was standing at the head of his Chitauri army and ordering them to attack New York, then Steve would hurl his shield at him, aim for the head, no problem. And sure, if Loki was holding his knife and about to stab someone then_yes, _Steve would have shot him at point-blank range, right between the eyes.

He had thought about it a lot.

But not like this. Not when he was so… Not when he was barely even breathing.

Steve couldn't kill him, and wasn't nothelping him the same thing? Wasn't it murder to walk away now, when he had all the equipment available to try his very best to keep him alive?

Something like a lens snapped down over his eyes - focus, sharpening his senses. Steve was at his best when he was under pressure. When he was trying to help someone. Especially when he was saving someone's life.

Steve ripped away Loki's shirt. Beneath was a wasteland of still-bleeding gashes and big, blooming bruises and crimson blood. But Steve was no stranger to blood. He may not know anything about Tony's complicated gadgets, but he understood injuries well enough.

After he washed his hands he painstakingly cleaned each of the worst wounds - there were many - with water. He searched through five drawers of medical supplies (_seriously, was it so difficult for Tony to label them?_) before he found a cream that looked promising. The fine print said that it could prevent infection, and that was good enough for Steve. He bandaged each of the gashes, wiped the dried blood away, and sighed, because that was all he could do.

Oh. He had forgotten to wipe the blood away from his face. Steve wetted the washcloth again and, looking away because he couldn't bring himself to _look_, scrubbed until his face was blood-free.

He didn't feel any better. He just felt strangely hollow.

Loki would live because of him.

There was some noise… someone coughing? Steve whirled around to see Loki's eyes flutter slightly before his entire body heaved and he choked out a puddle of blood.

"Jarvis?" he asked, although it still felt strange to talk to nothing. "Give me… life signs. Report. Data. Statistics. Or whatever it's called."

**Health report for Steve Rogers: everything is functioning at a natural -**

"No! Report for _him_!" Steve pointed at Loki.

**Health report for unknown: unknown is in critical condition, suffering from many internal injuries and broken bones, and -**

Okay, then. Perhaps Steve hadn't done as good a job as he thought.

()()()

It took Tony an exhausting fifteen minutes to subdue the Hulk, and by then the lobby was a wasteland of bent metal and gray stuffing.

But the Hulk was cornered in the, well, the cornerof the lobby, and Tony kept a constant stream of bright energy flowing from his palm, pinning him to the wall. It wasn't harmless by any means - Tony was quite sure that the Hulk's roar was a mixture of rage and pain, instead of simply rage. Bruce would wake up with a nasty pain in his chest.

Now, if only he would wake up.

Tony didn't have time to waste, being here. He was supposed to be upstairs, foiling Loki's devious plan, whatever that was, and hauling his ass back to prison.

_Leave it to Bruce to Hulk out in the lobby_. _Who doesthat?_

Because the more Tony thought about it, the more certain he was that Loki did have some convoluted plot up his sleeve.

_Firstly, that would go with his whole shtick. Secondly, wasn't this all a bit convenient? A bit Trojan-horse-esque?_

He had lain on Tony's doorstep like a package or a bundle of newspapers, waiting to be taken inside. Once he was inside, he would carry out his plan - to kill as many of the Avengers as possible and retake New York.

Tony couldn't let that happen.

"Come on, Shrek. Let's hurry up with this," he urged. "Come on… I need you."

But it took another five minutes of wasted time before he finally saw a flash of recognition in the Hulk's eyes.

That was when the elevator doors slid open again. Tony and the half-unHulked Bruce both swiveled their heads in its direction.

Steve stepped out of the elevator. "Oh, good. Neither of you are dead."

Tony tapped his watch and ran forward as the metal disappeared from his skin. "Why the hell did you..."

"Bruce, I need you." Steve said. "He's hurt."

"Oh no you don't. What are you _talking_ about?" Tony stepped in front of Steve and waved his hand in front of his face. "Earth to Rogers. Here at Stark Industries, we lock supervillains up in prison. We don't bandage their boo-boos."

Bruce was now fully Bruce again. He staggered away from the wall, one hand on his chest, over his heart.

Steve straightened, eyes focused on a point above both Tony and Bruce's heads. "He's dying. He's got broken bones and internal injuries of some kind, and I cleaned all the gashes and tried to bandage them but I guess he's got some serious issues and I can't…" he swallowed, even though his throat was already dry. "I won't let him die. Bruce?"

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but Tony interrupted him. "No. Hell no. I'm not doing this. This is my fucking tower and I'm not harboring a whatever-the-hell-he-is." He stepped forward with a clunk, gesturing wildly. "We'll call SHIELD, make them deal with this. Yeah? Why are you both looking at me like I'm the crazy one here?"

"He'll die before SHIELD can get here," Steve said. "Bruce? Please?"

"No, Bruce, don't… this doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, I'll try," Bruce said, quietly.

"Seriously? You both are gonna just ignore me?"

"Pretty much," Bruce said, with a shadow of a smile. But one hand was still clutching tightly at his chest, and the green hadn't faded entirely from his skin.

()()()

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Loki's eyes snapped open.

A white ceiling and glinting, silver metal. Breaths that hurt to inhale. A gnawing absence of pain, aside from the lessening ache in his broken arm and the pounding in the back of his head.

He was suffocating in something. Something too hot and too close. Loki reached up frantically to push it away, but his hands sank into something soft and light.

_Blankets?_

The quiet beeping, the stale air, the absence of color.

_A hospital, then? Why?_

He pushed the blankets away and sat up. He had a moment to take in the bed he was sitting in and the bandages he was wrapped in, the sinister machinery that lined the wall, the wires. Then he was hit with dizziness like a blow to the head, followed by bitter-tasting burst of nausea on his tongue. Something wailed in his ears.

"Oh my god," someone said.

Loki reached into his sleeve for his knife. His sleeve was gone, his fingers brushed against bare skin. He tried to bend forward to reach his boot, but a sickly burning sensation in his chest stopped him, stealing his breath.

"Stop. Lie back down."

Loki glanced in the direction of the voice, and he sucked in a breath that made his chest ignite.

Rogerswas standing over him, towering over him. His face was a steel mask. But, when Loki looked closer, he could see the tightness of his jaw and the anger in his eyes, that his other hand was clenched into a fist. Rogers was here to kill him, to rip him apart, to get his revenge.

_Then why aren't you dead?_

Loki nearly grimaced at the sound of the voice.

"Lie down," Rogers repeated. "You'll just make your injuries worse if you don't."

Loki blinked.

Blinked again.

_Could it be possible? Could his ploy have worked? Was Rogers truly so idiotic as to let him into Stark Tower and bandage his wounds?_

"Where am I?" he asked, voice painfully hoarse. His eyes darted around the room, hovering for a long time on the sharp metal instruments that glinted like shards of glass, and on the window beside his bed, through which he could see the city of New York, and blue, blue sky.

Rogers opened his mouth to speak, but Loki interrupted. "How did I get here? Why are _you_ here?"

Rogers closed his mouth. He looked to be deep in thought, and that look did not suit him. "Lie down and I'll tell you," he said, finally.

"No."

"Do you _want_ to black out again?"

"Again?"

"You were pretty out of it when we found you."

"_What?"_

"You lost a lot of blood. Your body couldn't handle it."

Loki stared in disbelief. He had slipped into unconsciousness on Stark's welcome mat.

A miscalculation, that was all. He had lost too much blood, and his body hadn't been able to handle it. But Loki hated to think of the spectacle he must have been, lying there all bloody like a fresh kill. Too weak to even stay awake.

_Oh, but you were always weak._

_And your hands were already stained with blood._

Loki practically shook, because there was no way to release his anger when Rogers was right there in front of him. He couldn't have that blissful relief from the voices, not for any lasting length of time. He couldn't even clench his fists because Rogers would see.

_And we both know how much you love to be unseen._

_To hide in the shadows._

Loki put a hand on the bed to support his weight, and he pushed himself up, trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed to stand. His arm would not support him and he fell back into the blankets, with a blinding pain searing its way through his shoulder. He looked at his arm and tasted bile at the back of his throat when he saw that it was covered in a hard, white cast. It ran practically from his shoulder to his wrist and was tethered to his chest by a length of thick gauze.

"See, what did I tell you? Lie down," Rogers said. He cocked his head as if he had heard something far away. "Stay there. I'll be right back."

Rogers' eyes lingered on him for a moment, and Loki met his gaze unflinchingly. Then Rogers left the room and closed the door behind him.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

It was like the dripping of a faucet. The ticking of a clock.

_Was Rogers trying to drive him crazy?_

Loki put his other hand on the bed and used it to push himself up enough to lean against the wall. An involuntary gasp of pain as fire shuddered through his chest. His breath hitched then. He couldn't breathe_. _Loki clawed at his throat, fighting for air, fighting against the panic that was about to drown him.

A haze of darkness encroached upon the edges of his vision.

No, no_,_ he would not black out again. He would not give Rogers the satisfaction of seeing his weakness, of seeing the power his injuries had over him… how far he had fallen that he could no longer even stay awake.

_As if anyone would miss you if you fell asleep._

Loki reached for his magic, but it was like reaching through the Void. As if he had tried to examine his nails and realized that there were no nails, no fingers, no hand. He knew his magic was somewhere deep inside him, trapped, perhaps, within a cage more claustrophobic than the one Loki had been trapped in. But when he called out for it, nothing answered.

The darkness was closing in. Like the walls of his prison, like the dark voice in his head. He was drowning in it. Loki fought to keep his head above water, fought to stay upright, but he only fell back into the pillows like an invalid. Only fell beneath the black, churning waves and into the smothering darkness. Only fell_._

And slept, really slept, for the first time in four days.

()()()

_Star: yeah, I think Tony's stuck in a permanent headspace of, "I'm so over this shit."_


	4. Chapter 4

_Oh my god, this story is going so fast! As of today, I've got eight finished chapters, almost 40k words, and 78 pages! I published the first chapter twenty days ago. That's almost four pages, or 2k words, per day! That's INSANITY!_

_In contrast, this chapter begins at the 20 page mark. So I will probably begin writing longer chapters, just so that I don't have to wait so long to see my favorite scenes posted! _

_I can remember how, when writing my HP story The Better One, I was so excited when I finally hit the 100 page mark… oh, my poor, innocent past self. So naive._

_Thanks to tincturedwords for beta reading, as always. _

()()()

Steve found Bruce back in the kitchen, sitting on the counter again, legs swinging. He had evidently found another piece of pizza. It lay on his knee, untouched.

He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. "Bruce…"

"What now?" Bruce didn't look up. "Look, I could hardly be in the same room as him without… you know. I hate that I helped him. I'm not going back upstairs."

Steve's eyes dropped to the floor, perhaps to the same patch of wood flooring that Bruce was so fascinated by. "I couldn't let him die."

Bruce snorted.

"We both know he didn't have long. And I couldn't... I just _couldn't._"

"It feels wrong," Bruce said.

"I know."

They both looked up. They both studied each other, searching for a sign - a bitten lip, a creased forehead, something in the eyes - that would let them know what the other was feeling. But Bruce's face was as blank as a toy doll's, and Steve knew Bruce would not find anything in his, either.

"Where's Tony?" Steve asked.

Tony had remained in the lobby while they both went upstairs.

"I don't know," Bruce said, bitterly. He peeled off a piece of pepperoni and stared at it. "Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn't you be looking after our _guest_?"

Steve sighed and crossed the room to sit beside him on the counter. "I came here to check on you. I know that the Other Guy kind of took over back there. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Well, it would never have happened if you didn't..."

"Bruce."

Bruce hardly faltered. His anger broke through, and his voice grew to a dangerous shout. "If you didn't let that _monster _in!"

Bruce's eyes snapped up to meet Steve's. "I respect you. I swear I do. But this is going too far. This is _crazy. _Couldn't you have just phoned SHIELD and shut the door? Let _them _deal with this? You have no obligation to help him, but just _think _how guilty you'll feel - we'll feel - if this is all a trick and he ends up killing more people just because you were too good of a guy to let him bleed to death?"

"Bruce…"

"Trust me, no one would blame you. You would have been doing earth a favor."

"Bruce. Stop."

Bruce looked away.

Steve took a deep breath. "You don't mean this. You're a doctor - you help people. If you had let him die, you would regret it. You're not a killer. Not like him."

"I…" Bruce looked away again. "Well. You… I guess you're right. I guess. And I think I already knew that, but I got so lost in my thoughts while I was staring at this damn piece of pizza that I forgot."

Steve found that he was smiling.

"Anyway," Bruce set the slice of pizza on the counter and turned to face him. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be watching him?"

"Yeah. But he woke up."

Bruce just looked at him, as if he was waiting for him to continue. "And…" he urged, when Steve didn't reply.

"And what?"

"And why did you think it was a good idea to _leave _as soon as he had woken up?"

"I wasn't sure what to do."

"Okay," Bruce ran a hand through his hair. "_Why _didn't you have Jarvis tell me instead of coming down here? He could be..." Bruce jumped down from the counter. "Oh shit," he said, frantically. He shot a glance back at Steve, then broke into a run.

()()()

It was a stressful elevator ride to get back to the hospital room (what _was_ it with them and stressful elevator rides today?). Bruce had to choose between thinking about the god upstairs, or Steve, who was standing next to him; or Tony, who they hadn't seen in over an hour; or the gaping hole he had left in the elevator doors. None of them were particularly stress-free subjects. He decided to concentrate on the hum as the elevator descended, blocking out all thoughts and emotions and focusing on the sound.

_Just breathe._

_Please, don't forget to breathe._

When the doors opened, Steve took off down the hallway. Bruce ran after, but with each step he fell a bit further behind.

_Stupid short legs._

Steve vanished through the hospital door, and called out, "He's still here!"

Bruce slowed to a walk, breathing heavily, both from the running and from the anxiety. He entered the room to see Steve standing over the bed where Loki was lying.

"Thank god," Bruce said.

Loki's breaths were still shallow, but much more even. His wounds were bandaged in white linen. His entire arm was covered by a cast.

"He was awake a few minutes ago. He tried to stand up. He must have tried again after I left and passed out," Steve said. Bruce saw his eyes wander over the blankets, which had been pushed to the far end of the bed, and over Loki, who was curled on his side. His eyes were closed in sleep but there was no sense of relaxation in his face, no comfort.

Steve looked worried.

"Come on. Leave him. Let's find Tony. I can tell Jarvis to tell us if he wakes up."

"I'll stay."

"_Steve_."

Steve turned to face him, folding his arms. "I'm staying."

Bruce folded his arms as well, and stepped back towards the door. "You don't even want to know how Tony is doing?"

"I do want to know, but…"

Bruce ignored him, and nodded at Loki. "That guy is an evil, all-powerful megalomaniac, and Tony is our _friend._ You need to sort out your priorities. Even though I'm okay with the fact that I saved his life, it doesn't mean I think you should waste all your time on him."

"My priorities are fine. Tony isn't dying."

"How would you know? You don't seem to give a shit about him." Bruce took a deep breath, realizing what he had said when it was too late. "Sorry."

Steve stiffened. "No worries."

"Besides, _he_ isn't dying either. Sure, he's a little banged up, but he'll live." _Unfortunately._

Steve turned away, back towards Loki. "Look, if we both leave he might wake up and escape, and neither of us want that. Just go. I'll be fine."

Steve was right.

"You better be," Bruce said with a forced smile, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"I always am." Steve's lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Bruce cast one more anxious look at the god in the bed. He sighed and smiled, but his smile disappeared as soon as he was out the door. He glanced both ways down the hallway and thought of the hundreds of possible places Tony could be.

"Jarvis, where's Tony?" Bruce asked to the ceiling.

**Tony Stark is currently lying on a couch in the lobby beside an excessive amount of alcohol, staring vacantly at the ceiling.**

Bruce groaned and ran for the elevator, _again._

()()()

Tony was _not _sulking. He was brooding, and there was a difference. Mostly, the difference was that crappy, yet cool, TV show villains brooded, and fifteen year old girls sulked.

Hadn't he told Pepper that a few weeks ago, before any of this shit happened? Yes, he remembered. She had hidden the last bottle of whiskey because it was "unhealthy." He gave her the silent treatment for a few hours, and she accused him of sulking.

But another important difference was that, while fifteen year old girls certainly didn't do anything useful while sulking, a brooding villain was a villain that was crafting a plan.

He found it easily - it was in her closet, buried among her rows of shoes. Later, he invited her on a date. They watched the moon rise, and he poured them both a glass. She didn't complain.

So no, Tony was not sulking. He was thinking of a plan. Sure, he hadn't gotten very far yet, but brooding wasn't a fast process.

He glanced away from the lobby's ceiling as the elevator doors _dinged _and opened.

It was Bruce, now in a gray t-shirt and brown blazer. "Sulking again?" he asked.

Tony scowled. "Go away," he said.

Bruce smiled, and proceeded to walk towards Tony's couch. "You sound like an angsty teenager," he said, sticking his hands in the pockets of his blazer. He hadn't been wearing it earlier, and Tony wondered why he had suddenly decided to put it on. It wasn't cold.

"Yeah, well, you're not much better, Mr. I-turn-green-when-I'm-angry."

Bruce whistled. "You must _really_ be out of it. That joke didn't even make sense."

Tony shrugged awkwardly against the arm of the couch. "Hm."

Bruce stopped in front of him. His eyes moved to the empty bottles that were discarded on the floor, to the one that dangled from Tony's hands. Tony pointedly took a sip, raising his eyebrow. "What's up?" he asked, after the fire had burned it way down his throat - burned away all thought and feeling, and left sweet relief behind.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked.

No. No, Tony was not okay, because he was not anything. He was not okay, and he was not happy, and he was not sad, or scared, or angry, or anything at all. He was numb, numb like his head was frozen in a block of ice. But that was better than feeling. If he _felt_, he didn't know what he would do. He would be caught in a web of emotions and it was so tangled that he didn't even know which would be the spider that would eat him alive.

He was so numb that his _metaphors_ didn't make sense, or his jokes, or his thoughts, and that was fine.

"Yup," Tony said. He raised the bottle towards Bruce before drinking the rest of it. "Never… better," he choked out. The words mutated into an enormous belch.

Bruce raised his hands in surrender and stepped away. "Okay… up until this point, I wasn't convinced, but after _that,_ I totally believe you."

Tony dropped the empty bottle on the floor, folded his hands beneath his head, and returned his eyes to the ceiling. There was a streak of light on the ceiling that reminded him of a fork. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be watching Sleeping Beauty?"

"Yeah, but I'd rather make sure that my friend isn't drowning his sorrows in alcohol."

Tony didn't bother trying to process this information. Instead, he hastily changed the subject. "Why did Steve need you?"

"_He_ was on the brink of death. Oh, and by the way, Steve says that he woke up for a few minutes. He's back asleep now, though. I was thinking, if he wakes up again, he might try to use his magic. Do you have anything that can restrict that?"

Tony could only handle topic at a time. He settled for the first. "Belle was dying?"

He glanced over at Bruce to see that he was fiddling with his sleeve. "Yeah. Lost too much blood."

Tony groaned and looked back at the ceiling. "So we just saved his life."

"You could say that."

"I _am_ saying that. And I hate it." Tony glared at the fork.

"Anyway. Restricting his magic. Any thoughts?"

Tony groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. "I don't know. No. Maybe. I don't know. _Fuck_, what are we going to do?" he looked once more at Bruce, at his disheveled hair, at his anxious eyes, and sighed. "We are _all_ getting too old for this. Except maybe Spangles, which is ironic, considering…"

"You're rambling."

"Yeah, sorry," Tony ran his hands over his face again.

"I know what we're going to do. We're gonna call SHIELD, right?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Great. You do that."

"Yeah, and Fury'll totally believe me when I'm slurring over every other word and can't form a coherent sentence," Tony said, even though he hadn't slurred over a single word yet, and had produced plenty of coherent sentences.

He just really, _really_ didn't feel like talking to Fury. His desire to talk to Bruce was already diminishing by the second, and he much preferred Bruce over Mad-Eye-without-a-sense-of-humor.

Not that Mad-Eye Moody ever had a sense of humor. Or did he? Tony didn't remember, and he didn't give a crap anyway. He was too out of it to comprehend pop culture references.

"Fine. I'll get Steve to do it," Bruce said.

"Why not you?"

"You think _I_ want to talk to him?"

Tony nearly smiled.

"I can probably cook something up for you in the lab," he said. "So Belle doesn't get any bright ideas about using her princess powers to escape."

"Good. And I'm pretty sure it's Aurora, not Belle," Bruce said.

Damn. Tony must be _really_ out of it if his was mixing up his Disney princesses.

Bruce half-smiled at Tony, and walked backwards a few steps before turning to press the button on the elevator. The doors shot open immediately. _Never let it be said that Tony Stark builds a mediocre elevator._

_Or a mediocre alien-magic-power-preventer, because that could be really, really bad._

Tony jumped up from the couch once Bruce had gone, kicking aside an empty bottle. He stretched dramatically, cracked his knuckles, and headed to his lab.

()()()

"...can you imagine what could have happened?" Loki heard someone ask, as he fought to the surface of his conscious, kicking and thrashing in the waves. But the water still pulled at him, threatening to drag him down..

"Yeah," someone else said. Rogers, probably. It sounded like his voice - stern for no reason, with a blunt edge of ignorance.

Loki kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep.

"Steve?" That same someone said. They had a voice he recognized, a grating voice, but he couldn't put a name to it. He was too tired to remember voices.

"Yeah," Rogers said.

"I'd like to apologize about earlier."

"Don't mention it.

"Honestly, you're too nice for your own good. I said that you didn't care about Tony. That was..."

"Don't mention it."

Thankfully, that useless conversation fizzled out. But Loki felt a tingling sensation, a looming presence. He was being watched, he _knew_ it. He fought the urge to fidget, to move away from the prying eyes. Eyes were a weapon, and he could do nothing to protect himself as they slashed at his skin, cutting out his every imperfection.

"So what's up with Tony?" Rogers asked.

Loki nearly groaned out loud. Did they _have_ to continue talking? Mortals and their stupid, unimportant conversations… they actually thought that _any_ of this mattered. Once Loki had regained his magic, he would rip out their vocal cords and string them on tree branches.

"Oh, you know. Staring vacantly at the ceiling next to a heap of empty bottles. Same as before."

"I hope I didn't…"

Loki slipped beneath the waves.

Blackness blocked out his thoughts, turned him to a formless thing, floating endlessly through space… there was no light, no sound, nowhere to stand. Water crashed against his face but no, he didn't _have_ a face… he felt for it and there was nothing there, no eyes, no mouth. He was only darkness, and he would float forever and ever.

_Here in space, no one can hear you scream._

When light broke through again, Loki was panicking too much to feign sleep. Fast, heavy breaths were squeezed out of his lungs like a bellows blowing air onto a fire. In out in out in out _breathe._

His eyes shot open.

"Oh, shit," he heard that person say - the person he couldn't recognize. Loki glanced in their direction.

_Fate must be having a field day._

It was Banner.

_The Hulk._

_The one who humbled you._

_You try to forget, because your fragile pride can't take it. Allow me to remind you._

_He smashed you to a pulp and left you there in the ground. He broke three of your ribs in the first blow alone._

_And you would call yourself a _king.

Loki sat up immediately. He would _not_ be seen lying in bed like… like a corpse. But sitting up left a sharp pain in his chest, and for the first time, Loki wondered what was wrong with him. He was a god… well. He had magic, and it should have healed him by now.

_Don't you remember?_

_The All-father stole your magic._

_You are helpless._

Loki's breath caught.

"He's awake," Rogers said. Loki's eyes snapped towards him, taking in the stern, emotionless eyes, the square shoulders, the angled jaw… he was practically carved out of stone_. _It was obnoxious - Loki couldn't tell what he was thinking,

But, beside him, Banner was an open book, words leaping from the pages in their eagerness to be read. He was shifting from book to foot, fidgeting with his sleeve, _and _biting his nails, all at once. Loki felt a sense of pride that his presence elicited such a strong reaction, despite his being bloodied and unable to stand without passing out.

He smiled. "I'm truly impressed that you noticed such a small detail."

No visible reaction. Fine… perhaps this was not the time for wit. After all, Loki had a part to play. Time to get in character.

"Now that you're awake, we'd like to ask you some questions," Banner said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Loki bit his lip on purpose. "Go ahead… seeing as I'm helpless anyway, and have no way of preventing you, and if I don't you can always force me to answer."

Ah, subtlety.

Hopefully, although his thoughts felt like they had been dipped in molasses, he hadn't lost his touch.

Banner and Rogers shared a glance. "Okay," Banner said, awkwardly. "Why are you here?"

"Because you put me here and decided to stand guard," Loki said.

Playing a part was difficult when there were _so many ways _to get under their skin, and Loki thoroughly enjoyed every one.

Still not much of an reaction, although Rogers' stone face had sharpened into a glare. Banner just looked nervous. What an awful audience.

Loki twisted the corner of the blanket, eyes still on Banner as if he didn't realize he was doing it. As Rogers' scowl deepened, Loki shifted away from the both of them, towards the wall.

"Answer the question," Rogers said.

_I thought I just did. _"It was close by," Loki muttered, dropping his gaze to his hands. His fists clenched around the blanket. He _hated_ this, this display of weakness, no matter how artificial it may be.

_Does it displease you to serve your master?_

_I cannot comprehend why. Kings are commonly known for groveling at others' feet._

He inhaled sharply against the sudden longing for pain, for something to distract him, to take away his mind. The pain in his chest was now only a dull ache. If he ignored it for long enough, he forgot it was even there. It was not enough.

"Not an answer," Rogers snapped, eyes flashing. "Why were you all beaten up? And why would you come to _us_, when you know we hate you?"

Subtly, Loki dug his nails into his hands. "I…" he said, breaking off and taking several breaths, as if he couldn't bring himself to speak. Perhaps tears… would tears help to convince them? Would he have to put on a _show_?

Oh, Thanos, surely you could have chosen someone with less pride for your mission? Someone who would find no problem with groveling at their enemies' feet. Loki knew many such people.

Banner's voice contained more anger than Rogers', but it was tightly constrained like a chained animal. "Answer the damn question," he said.

_Just say it. Something weak, something that fits you. Watch how they smile when they eat up your lie._

_Thanos was stronger than me._

_I could not defend myself._

_He beat me to a bloody pulp and dumped me on your doorstep like a bag of garbage, and that is exactly what I am… the worthless Frost Giant, the pathetic, abandoned, _abused _son of Laufey._

The voice kept taunting him, and there was no escape. Loki fell back onto the pillows and closed his eyes as his nails unconsciously pressed deeper into his palms, and his own thoughts screamed at him like banshees.

He was in his glass cell again, trapped, forced to listen as they jeered at him. If he opened his eyes, all he would see was their too bright faces that made him squint, that made tears spring to his eyes like he was looking at the sun. And they towered above him. They were the sky, and he was nothing, stomped into the ground and left there to die.

_Do you want to know the best part?_

_It is only a lie because it has not happened yet._

_But it could._

_Oh, you are helpless without your magic. More a useless pile of skin than… whatever you claimed to be before. When you fail, Thanos could find you, he could tear this tower apart to find you just so he can snap your neck, so he can rip you apart, so he can ruin you and hear you scream._

_But he won't._

_Why?_

_You are so insignificant, he would not even waste his time by killing you, much less torturing you. In the end, you will long for death, for pain, because that is how weak you are. But you will be denied._

_You will be the last left in his universe, trudging through the blackness. A king of nothing but shadows and dust._

Loki was too weak to resist the voice's taunting. He fell beneath the waves again, but it followed him there, whispering in his ear.

()()()

_Star: I've noticed that too, and it has annoyed me as well! I'm glad you think I've portrayed it realistically. By the way, thanks for reviewing so consistently! It's really helpful._

**Feel free to leave a review! They are always appreciated.**


	5. Chapter 5

Hi! Thanks for sticking around :)

And thanks to tincturedwords for beta reading.

Let the angst continue!

()()()

"Do you he's faking it?" Bruce asked, regarding Loki with an obviously forced show of casualness; hands in his pockets, one eyebrow raised as if he was surveying a new fence post or a plot of land.

Steve answered honestly. "No."

"No?" Bruce repeated, turning to face him. "Whatever that was - you know, freaking out and going unconscious again - it could have been a performance. An act to get us to trust him. You do realize who we're dealing with, don't you? You understand that…"

"Yes, I understand," Steve interrupted, a bit of anger creeping into his words. _Did Bruce truly think he hadn't thought this through? _

"Okay. Anyway, you're gonna have to call SHIELD. Someone's gotta do it, and you were the one who insisted on bringing him in, so…" Bruce trailed off.

"I'll do it."

"Good."

They fell into a strained silence, both watching the demigod's chest rise and fall shallowly, hearing his breaths that were like the creaking of an old door. Despite the absence of blood, his injuries were visible in his face. He was too pale, his chopped hair was thin and stringy, he looked horribly tired.

Despite himself, Steve felt a pang of pity. Not because he felt bad for Loki, but it was something about seeing another human - or something that looked like one - in obvious pain that made Steve want to alleviate their suffering as soon as possible. He would block it with his shield, shoot it with his gun, run forward and cover it with his own body as if it were a grenade… yes, Steve had a long history of doing foolish things to make others feel better.

Or perhaps it wasn't foolish. He supposed it depended on the scenario - on the pain, on the person.

"I wonder what he was about to say," Steve said. "Before he started breathing fast… looking terrified."

If it was a performance, it had been a good one.

Bruce snorted. "I don't give a damn what he was about to say." He dug in the pocket of his jeans and produced his cell phone.

"Here," he handed it to Steve. "Call Fury. You do know how to dial a number, right?"

Stiffly, Steve took the phone. "Yes."

"Good. It's in my contacts somewhere. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go make sure Tony hasn't blown anything up."

When he left, he may have closed the door with more force than was necessary, but Steve chose to ignore it.

He turned the phone in his hands, but his eyes never left Loki. Something beeped quietly, tapping out a heartbeat. He was calm in sleep. He looked relaxed, like he was having good dreams.

_What happened to you?_

He should call, but he couldn't help remembering how Loki had looked a few minutes ago. "Terrified," was what he had called it, but he should know better. During the attack on New York, he'd seen many emotions cross his face - triumph, anger, pride - never fear.

Maybe something had changed. They couldn't assume this was a trick. Maybe someone had forced him to do it. They couldn't assume.

Innocent until proven guilty.

Fury tended to be impulsive when he was angry. He wouldn't ask questions. If they turned Loki over, they might never know what had happened to him.

After carrying him up 39 flights of stairs, cleaning and bandaging his wounds, wiping away the blood, and waiting at his bedside for hours , then seeing his reaction to that simple question, Steve wanted to know.

It hadn't been much of a reaction. He had bit his lip, edged away from them, and hadn't been able to finish a sentence. The signs were subtle, and Steve barely picked up on them. So subtle that Steve thought they must be real, for if it was a trick, wouldn't Loki have done something more obvious to be sure they would see? But they had both seen anyway, and he was certain Loki had been afraid.

He sank down into a chair, still turning the phone in his hands.

()()()

Tony had been biting his lip for ten minutes, without realizing he was doing it. What he did realize was the muggy haze that seemed to have curtained his mind. Made it seem like his hands were moving through water, his eyes were looking through a pane of dirty glass, and the pain of his bitten bottom lip was someone else's entirely.

He tried to focus on the two metal bracelets that lay on the table in front of him, with wires sticking out like grass through cracks in pavement, and little blinking lights on the side. Surrounding them was a mess of metal parts, other devices in various stages of growth and decay, and three bottles of beer Tony had set at the end of the table to discourage himself from drinking. That plan ended up being nothing more than an inconvenience, forcing him to walk to the end of the table every ten seconds and walk back again.

Tony tried to focus but he couldn't, and that wasn't a good sign for anyone except Loki.

Maybe SHIELD had something. They had a shit ton of creepy, unnecessary weapons, who knows? They might have an alien magic-stopper, kept there "just in case" like it was a flashlight, a plastic bag of shark jawbones, or a drawer full of kale (Tony had had weird friends. And the kale hadn't exactly been kale.)

And the bracelets might not work. Was it the hands that held his magic? Could they chain him up like Elsa, or did they have to coat his entire body in metal? Not that Tony would complain.

He pinched the edge of his lip in between his teeth as he fiddled with the wires. The bracelets were supposed to catch all energy that tried to leave Loki, and keep it around his wrists. They would have a magicless Loki, and as a bonus, whenever he accidentally brushed against metal, he would probably get a massive electric shock.

Tony, in his drunken haze, laughed out loud at the mental image.

Damn, did it feel good to laugh.

But he didn't want to laugh by himself as he worked on a pair of high-tech handcuffs for an evil demigod who, by some cruel twist of fate, was asleep in his tower. He wanted to laugh with Pepper. He wanted her hand on his shoulder, and he wanted to turn to see her bright, freckled smile, and wanted her to kiss him delicately on the cheek. That was something she had grown fond of doing in recent days.

She would talk with him in a way no one else did, digging her way down to the nitty-gritty bits of whatever was bothering him. He would sigh and proceed to explain. He knew she would listen, that she cared.

He wanted that, but during the three days after the attack on New York, he had never once tried to get it. He had never allowed the conversation to drift towards the battle, or towards wormholes, or Afghanistan, or arc reactors, or anything that mattered. He knew if she was here, he still wouldn't.

Tony stuck a pair of screws in between his teeth to spare his lip, then inhaled sharply before touching two wires together. They sparked brightly, loudly like someone had clapped their hands, and Tony jumped back. But there was no burst of fire, no explosion, so he cautiously crept closer, grabbing a pair of pliers to examine the problem.

"Jarvis? Has Steve called SHIELD yet?" Tony mumbled around the screws.

He paused his work for a moment, waiting for the answer. The sooner Steve called SHIELD, the sooner Loki would be gone, and Tony wouldn't have to finish building these bracelets, although he would anyway. He liked the feeling of metal and wires beneath his hands, something to distract him, something to do besides lay in bed and slowly die of alcohol-poisoning.

**Steve Rogers is currently sitting in a chair in room 39B. I can contact him, replay video footage, or check for any calls that may have left the vicinity.**

Tony waved a hand in the air, like a bird climbing into the sky. "Yeah, yeah. That last one."

**There have been no calls.**

"Dammit," Tony muttered. His hands slipped and a series of sparks burst through the air like fireworks, each accompanied by a loud popping noise. Tony jumped back again and accidentally dropped the pliers on his bare foot. "Dammit!" he shouted, cradling his toe in his hands. "Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Dammit!"

He narrowed his eyes. Either he was mistaken, or distinctive, raucous laughter was coming from the stairwell. It was loud and carefree in a way he wouldn't expect from Bruce. Tony grinned in spite of himself.

Bruce's head poked around the corner. "I told Steve I was gonna come make sure you hadn't blown anything up," he said. "I'd say that was a good call on my part. What happened?"

"I dropped the pliers on my toe."

Bruce burst out laughing again.

"Really?" he asked, as his laughter died down. He ran a hand through his hair and then stuck his hands in his pockets, sidling over. "How's it going?"

Tony shrugged. "Keeps sparking. I don't feel like getting electrocuted, so I'm trying to be careful, but it makes it harder to know what the problem is."

"If SHIELD has something, or when they take him to prison, what'll you do then? It's good to see you busy. Seems like when you're bored, you tend to… you know."

Specificity was not Bruce's strong suit, but Tony knew exactly what he meant. "SHIELD is gonna come get him, right?" he asked, ignoring Bruce's question. "I mean, that's the plan, right? I hope so, because it sounds like a damn good plan to me. I don't like it when undesirables mooch off my wealth. I am a billionaire, you know."

"I know."

"No one's called them yet."

This revelation was met by silence.

"Another thing," Tony said, spitting out the screws and sitting down to get a better look. He picked up one of the bracelets. It was cool to the touch, thin and hard, without any give. "Why is he here? And what happened to him? Did you ask?"

"He passed out a minute after he woke up. We didn't have much time."

"Did he say anything?"

"Not really."

Again, specificity.

Tony looked away from the bracelets. Bruce's smile had gone, and he looked tired. They all probably looked tired. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Tony demanded, waving a bracelet through the air.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. He seemed off."

"If anything seems off, it's a sham," Tony turned back to the table and reached for another pair of pliers. "He's the motherfucking god of shams! Or something like that. I don't give a crap."

"I know. But Steve seemed to believe him. That's why I'm here - I got angry. I couldn't stand to look at him anymore."

Strange that by some unspoken agreement, they had all decided not to say Loki's name.

Tony half-smiled. "Join the club." He walked to the end of the table, picked up a bottle, took a long drink, and set it down. Then he walked back, smiling beneath the judgement that practically radiated from Bruce's eyes.

"Seriously?"

"When am I not serious?"

Bruce let out an exasperated sigh. "Why do I have a feeling that you're burying your emotions beneath stupid jokes?"

Tony bit the inside of his cheek. _Not helping, Bruce. _Tony didn't want to think about what had happened four days ago, or, for the record, what had happened in Afghanistan, although that source of trauma seemed small and worn-out compared to this shiny, brand new one… but, anyway, wasn't it easier for everyone if Tony pretended nothing was wrong? They would get their helpful, funny, not-zoned-out billionaire, and Tony didn't have to think about it.

This was a lot easier than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling had been. He wished he had figured that out earlier.

Tony realized he had been silent for some time. "You're not my mom," he muttered.

Bruce snorted. "I hadn't realized that. Honestly Tony, you sound like a child."

Tony ignored him. He grabbed another device from beside him - an old piece of some failed AI, or part of a broken iron man suit - and wrenched off a thin piece of metal, then another. His fingers moved deftly as he tore the device into pieces.

"What are you looking for?" Bruce asked.

Tony grunted.

"If you won't talk to me, I'm going upstairs."

"Okay."

"You'll tell us when you've finished it?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Come up if you need us."

Tony heard Bruce's retreating footsteps, but didn't turn to watch him go. What he did do, was finally give up and move the three bottles within arm's reach.

()()()

"Why do I feel like I'm acting as a go-between for you and Tony?" Bruce asked as he slipped through the hospital door.

Thank God Bruce was back. For the past few minutes, Steve had been doing nothing but stare at the wall. Once, he got up to look at one of the beeping machines, but soon gave up, as there were no clearly marked red buttons and that was the limit of his understanding.

"Because you are," he said, looking up from the wall and forcing a smile.

Bruce smiled back, but it quickly melted away. "You didn't call SHIELD," he said. It wasn't an accusation, he was stating a fact.

Steve was still holding the phone. He set it on the ground and stood. "No, I didn't. I think we need to talk about this. All three of us."

"That would be great, but we can't leave him alone and Tony sure as hell isn't gonna come in here. Oh, and I don't feel like running back and forth to tell you what the other is saying."

"Tony can't stay in his room and pretend like nothing is happening."

"He isn't in his room. He's building something to restrict _his _magic, in case SHIELD doesn't get here before _he _wakes up for real. And it seems like that's going to happen."

Steve folded his arms. "I won't call SHIELD until I know the whole truth."

Bruce's eyes flicked to Loki and back again. "I get it. I mean, I want to know, too. But he's dangerous, Steve…"

"He's half-dead."

"It could be a trick."

"But what if it isn't? I don't want to make a hasty decision and regret it later."

They regarded each other closely, as each searched for a sign, again. Steve caught some depth of feeling in Bruce's eyes, but he didn't know what it meant.

"Yeah. Yeah, I get what you mean," Bruce dropped his gaze to the floor. He fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, playing with his sleeve. "I wish there was an easy answer."

_Don't we all?_

"Okay. Here's what we'll do," Bruce clapped his hands together. "I… you go talk to Tony. Maybe he'll respond differently to you. I don't know. We'll work something out."

"What if…"

"I'll try not to get mad if he wakes up. But if he starts flinging magical bullets around it might be best if I'm here, anyway. Do you have your shield?"

Steve glanced around the room, then shook his head.

"What? Why? You're gonna need that."

Steve grunted.

"Anyway. Go," Bruce put a hand on Steve's shoulder and steered him to the door. "Good luck. He's sulking," he said, before he pushed Steve out the door and closed it behind him.

Steve examined the hallway to get his bearings, and to take some time to process what had happened. It was a nice hallway. There was a potted plant.

Steve shook his head, clearing his thoughts. There was no time for this.

He took the stairs because he didn't feel like staring at the gaping hole in the elevator. Tony's lab was on the thirtieth floor, and nine flights of stairs was nothing to a supersoldier. He had climbed thirty-nine not so long ago. It hadn't been long, had it? And yet everything had changed.

He knocked as he entered. "Tony?"

There was a long table cluttered with broken, twisted metal, screwdrivers and shiny machinery, but no Tony. There were two empty bottles on the floor, but no Tony.

Tony was standing in a bright circle of light, surrounded by long robotic arms, with two silver bracelets on his wrists. "Kay. Test… is that seven? Hey, Thing One, is that seven?"

"Yes," something answered, in a monotonous robotic voice.

"Cool beans." Tony busted out laughing as he spun in a circle. "Shit. Never said that before. First time for everything. Shit. I feel sick."

"Would you like to…"

"No. Shut up, Thing One. Thing Two," Tony snapped his fingers. "Start the test."

Up until now, Steve had been quiet, so as not to disturb Tony while he worked. But when bright lights began flashing and what looked like forked tongues of lightning descended from the sky and licked at his arms.

Steve shouted across the room. "Hey! Stop!" and raced to where Tony was standing. He stopped outside the circle of light, unwilling to get electrocuted. "Tony, what are you…"

Tony sighed. His hair was standing on end. "Thing… whichever. Shut it off. Down. Off." The lightning disappeared and the bracelets fell from Tony's wrists to the ground.

"Tada," Tony said. "It worked."

Steve folded his arms. "Was that safe?"

Tony laughed loudly and spun in another circle. He was holding another bottle of alcohol. "Where's the fun in safe? Safe is boring. Lightning's fun. Besides, it worked."

Steve nodded. "I grant you that. Now, upstairs. We need to talk about…"

"No."

"But we should…"

"Nah."

"But…"

"No comprendo, monsieur," Tony said, grinning and taking a drink.

"Do you know what that means?"

Tony shrugged.

"Bruce agrees with me," Steve said. "We think we need to figure out what's going on here. We can't call SHIELD before we know the facts."

Tony took a step back, swinging the bottle in his hand. "Facts, huh? The facts seem pretty straightforward to me. How's this for you? My tower, my rules. And rule number… one of my rules is: to not harbor the bad guys I spent way too much time and energy vanquishing. That includes, but is not limited to," Tony walked in a circle, counting on his fingers, "Aliens, humans, mutants, cyborgs, robots, reptile-people, ogres, sentient unicorns, and gods. And demigods. Especially Norse ones."

He pointed at Steve. "I am not being racist when I say this, I swear. But, in my experience, the Norse ones are eviller than the other ones, and therefore, are higher on the list of creatures I would rather not harbor. Kapeesh?"

Steve stared at him. "Yeah. Sure."

Tony lifted his hand to his ear in an impression of a cell phone. "Then…"

Steve backtracked. "Wait… no. I meant no. No kapeesh."

Tony glared in return. "Fuck you then," he muttered, and downed the rest of the bottle. He dropped it on the floor and it rolled away.

Steve wanted to laugh, but he settled for a raised eyebrow. "Best you could come up with?"

"No, but you would have yelled at me for being 'too vulgar.'" Tony didn't smile, but Steve could sense his old humor, not sarcasm. It was an obvious change, and a welcome one.

"I'll watch through Jarvis and talk through the loudspeaker," Tony said. "That's it."

Steve smiled. "That's fine with me."

()()()

When Loki finally woke up again, his heart was pounding and he didn't know why. He could feel softness and warmth, hear beeping and rustling, see whiteness and a soft blur, but he felt submerged beneath the darkness. Falling forever through the Void…

He had to get up. He was small and trapped, everything was above him. He had to get up. Loki blindly reached out for something to support himself against, but his hand wouldn't move, he couldn't move, he was falling…

"Is he okay?" Dimly he heard a voice.

But everything was fading again, and he couldn't be sure if it was real, or his own thoughts, or his madness.

"I don't know."

"Hey! Breathe."

"Can't believe we're…"

"I know."

Loki struggled, thrashing back and forth. Something was pinning him down, something was holding him fast. Something… something… he couldn't move. He had to move.

_At least a lion can pace._

_Oh, great king, what have they done to you?_

Loki choked on his own throat. It sounded horribly like a sob.

A face above him. _Above him. _Loki glared at them. He could feel the pounding of his heart, a drumbeat that rattled his bones. He had to move. They were going to kill him. He had to get out. But he had no magic and no arms and no mind and he was trapped.

"It's okay," they said. "Just breathe."

The world came into focus. It was Banner who was standing above him, Banner with the green buried beneath his skin, waiting to bury Loki along with it. Loki forced his breaths to even out, forced himself to calm. He would not be seen like this. He would not give Banner the satisfaction.

"That was only ten minutes," someone else said. Rogers' voice.

_Banner and Rogers are here._

_Kill them._

Loki itched to do it. If only he could move. Oh, they would be dead in seconds.

"I know. That's not a good sign - he needs more sleep than that. We'll wait a few minutes for him to calm down." Banner replied.

Loki didn't bother trying to puzzle out their words. Not when his own mind was trying to drag him back down to the depths of sleep. He could not sleep. Not helpless as he was. Who knew what they would do to him? Fueled by rage, men became monsters.

Pain Loki could deal with. If they tortured him, he would close his eyes and bear it, and at times he may be broken enough to appreciate it, for it would drive away his madness. But he did not want to die.

_Oh, how inspirational._

_The broken prince has _recovered.

_But that is a lie. Truly, you are more broken than you were when you threw yourself from the Bifrost. At least then you had the good sense to destroy yourself. But now you live, and are a scourge on everything that breathes._

Loki dug his nails into his palms and bit down mercilessly on the inside of his cheek.

"Vitals are… decent," Banner continued, his back towards Loki. "As good as I could hope for. Tony? You're here, right?"

"_Yeah."_ It was a crackling, robotic voice, but unmistakably Stark's. Loki gritted his teeth. He was surrounded by his enemies.

His breathing picked up pace again, going out of his control. Loki struggled against whatever was holding him, struggled wildly, so it hurt.

"Hey. Hey! Stop." Banner turned quickly and placed a hand on Loki's shoulder.

Loki jerked away. "Don't touch me," he hissed, but was appalled by the sound of his own voice. He sounded frail, like he was dying.

"Okay, okay," Banner held up his hands. "I'm sorry."

Rogers' face came into view. "What's wrong with him?"

Loki practically growled. "_Nothing _is wrong with me."

He desperately tried to calm his frantic breaths back into a steady rhythm, to slow the beating of his heart, to erase the mind-numbing fear that made him want to run and never look back.

_Fool, you can't run. The best you can do is maintain your composure, and yet you fail at that, too._

He realized the inside of his cheek was throbbing. He bit down harder.

"I don't believe you," Banner said. He had the audacity to smile. "But there's nothing to worry about. We're not going to hurt you."

"_It's never a good idea to make promises you can't keep,"_ the robotic voice of Stark said. "_I might decide to march up there and clock him over the head, you never know."_

Bruce smiled apologetically. "He's drunk."

"_Irrelevant."_

"Shut up, both of you," Rogers interrupted. His eyes hadn't left Loki during the conversation. "Remember why we're here."

Loki met his eyes unflinchingly. Why were they here? To hold a farewell ceremony as they dumped him back on Stark's doorstep? To gather around and cheer as they threw him out the window? After all, they wouldn't be the ones to hurt him. Technically, any pain inflicted would be the ground's fault.

"We need to ask you a few questions," Steve explained.

Ah, so it was torture. They would force the answers from his lips. He wondered how they would do it, which way would be the most acceptable to them. It may begin with punches and descend into knives, slashes and ripping at skin. Maybe Rogers would hit him over the head with his gaudy shield a few times. It did not matter. Loki could bear it. He could bear anything.

This was his part to play, after all. Poor victim of Thanos, tortured and dumped at their door. What was wrong with real pain to make his part that much more real?

"I am ready," he said.

()()()

Thanks for reading! Any and all feedback is marvelous!

Star: I'm glad you like the references, because I love sprinkling them in!


	6. Chapter 6

_So you know how I said I had this whole thing outlined? Well, I've hardly followed my outline at all! In this chapter, I already went away from my own outline and now a bunch of shit that wasn't supposed to happen happened (this happens a lot in my stories). But it's all right, because I think it might be better than what I planned (Also happens a lot in my stories). So we're all good._

_As of today, this thing has 146 pages, and the beginning of this chapter is page 37. So you guys have lot of words to look forward to, and at least ten more chapters. As always, I'm astounded at how quickly I managed to write this much! It's been a little over one month since I began this, and it seems like every opportunity I get I'm writing because I love this story so much. Especially writing Tony, I LOVE writing Tony. :)_

_This chapter was beta read by tincturedwords and by Docwordsmith. Thanks so much!_

_Anyway. A bit of a filler chapter, but I hope it doesn't disappoint._

()()()

Banner and Rogers exchanged a confused glance. "Okay," Banner said, cautiously. "I'm glad you're ready, I guess."

"_I'll start,"_ said Stark. "_Why the fuck are you here?"_

Thankfully, the lies slipped easily into place. "Didn't I already tell you? It was… closest." He pretended to look afraid, to look vulnerable. Easy, because he was.

"_Why were you in New York?"_ Stark demanded.

"I…" Loki licked his lips. "I ran from… I had to get away from..." he pretended he couldn't finish the sentence, that was all. He could have said it if he wanted to.

"_From Asgard?" _

Loki looked steadily into Banner's eyes as he shook his head.

"From who?"

And here it came. The lie. _From Thanos_, he would say, and then he would tell them Thanos had tortured him, had broken him, and all Loki could muster the strength to do was crawl to the home of his enemies because they were more forgiving than his own master.

"_From who?"_ Stark demanded, again.

"And what if I do not deign to speak? In which manner will you pry the answer from my lips?" Loki laughed sharply. "It will not work. I am not so easily broken by torture."

_Fool. _

_You must say the lie, must obey your master. _

_You are the God of lies._

_Lie._

Banner and Rogers exchanged a glance. "We won't hurt you," Rogers said.

"_Really?" _came Stark's voice. "_Cause I'd enjoy roughing him up a bit, I don't know about you -"_

"We won't," Rogers repeated, with more force. "We don't do that here."

_Look, he can lie. Why can't you?_

Loki pulled against whatever was holding him again, straining until he no longer could and he fell back into the pillows. He plastered a leering smile on his face. "And yet here I am, bound, unable to move, in a tower where no one can see, where no one can hear my screams…" he broke off, panting.

_And still he will not obey his master._

_Follow the plan, you fool!_

But it already was not going according to plan. It hadn't from the start.

Thanos had told him to enter and kill them. But Loki didn't have any magic, he hadn't been able to produce a glamour. He had had to resort to injuring himself, to pretending Thanos had tortured him, to gain their pity. But now he was tied down and he couldn't kill them, and he couldn't get himself to say the lie because of his pride. He was supposed to say it, that was the plan. Why couldn't he say it?

If he couldn't say it, what would he do? Thanos would kill him. He had to do _something._

"_What the hell is he talking about?"_ Stark asked.

Banner shook his head wordlessly. His fists were clenched. Rogers' eyes had hardened in anger, stone eyes in a stone face.

"We won't hurt you," Banner said, again, as if repeating it would make Loki believe him.

Loki spat venom. "But you had did not hesitate to hurt me five days ago, when you lost your temper and struck me down," he pulled against his bonds again, struggling violently although he knew it was hopeless. "So hard that it broke through the rock, that it broke through my bones…"

He had hit gold. Banner's jaw was clenched, his chest rose and fell rapidly with his anger. "That wasn't..." he tried. Rogers stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, whispered something in his ear. Banner nodded, but did not relax.

"Since you won't answer Tony, can I ask a question?" Rogers asked.

Loki stared at him in disbelief. What was wrong with these people? Loki had no power here, Loki was the prisoner, the helpless prisoner, and yet Rogers would ask for his consent?

"You request my permission?" he asked, incredulously. This had to be a trick. Tricking the god of tricks - wouldn't that be ironic? No, he would not allow it. They would not deceive him. He narrowed his eyes. "For what purpose?"

"It's the right thing to do." Rogers said.

Loki stared into his eyes, trying to decipher them. But there was no emotion there, no flicker of feeling. He hid himself well. It was admirable. "Yes…" Loki said, cautiously, licking his lips. "You may."

Steve nodded. "Okay. Is this some crazy trick? Are you just trying to get on our good side? And… can you prove to us that you aren't?"

Loki met his eyes boldly. "I am not lying to you," he said. "But how can I prove it, when I am tied down, and-" he glanced down at his bonds, and at his hands.

_What is that?_

_Something on your wrist._

Loki's eyes flicked back to Rogers' face. "What is on my wrist?" he demanded.

"Something Tony made to restrict your magic."

Brilliant. Now Loki's magic was hindered by two things.

"_Can I say something? Good, thanks. I say we leave the guy here and go get some food. I'm starving,"_ Stark said.

Banner looked at Rogers and rolled his eyes.

"_I saw that!" _Stark said.

Loki let his head fall back into the pillows, and closed his eyes. He was so tired. The waves were lapping at his feet, waves of exhaustion, about to pull him under. He wished he could dive in, get it over with.

_Perhaps the smart, powerful god should have thought twice._

_Perhaps the so smart, so powerful god shouldn't have practically killed himself in the alleyway._

_Perhaps then he wouldn't be so tired. So nearly dead that his greatest enemies are nursing him back to health._

_Poor thing._

"Hey? Hey! He's falling asleep again."

"_Fuck. He's a slimy bastard. Didn't answer a single question."_

"Tony. He's obviously not doing well. Could you at least pretend to be worried?"

"_No, actually. I can't."_

"Both of you, be quiet."

Loki glared at the inside of his eyelids. Why wasn't he asleep? He wanted to go to sleep. He wanted the darkness, the endless darkness.

_Endless._

_Like floating through the Void, is it not?_

_What if you don't wake up?_

Loki, through a massive effort, forced his eyes back open. "Yes, I would appreciate quiet," he said.

Again, his sarcasm was met by silence. That is, until a burst of laughter crackled from nowhere in the form of Stark's robotic voice. "_Oh god,"_ Stark said, once he had regained the powers of speech. "_I'm so drunk. How am I standing? I feel like I should have passed out by now."_

Banner looked exasperated. "Not the time, Tony."

"_Really? Because it doesn't seem like you guys are accomplishing much, anyway."_

"Tony, stop."

"_You know what? If he won't answer our questions, I'll leave you to it. I'm hungry and I want some damn food. Tony out." _There was a final crackle, and a click, followed by deafening silence.

**Tony Stark has ended the connection.**

"Shit," Banner muttered. "What are we supposed to do now?"

()()()

"Shit," Tony said, as soon as he had ended the call. He lay his forehead on the wall in front of him and took a deep breath.

He was in the right, so why did he feel like his girlfriend had broken up with him over the phone? It had happened before. Multiple times. Never got easier, although it did get predictable. They always said the same things.

"Focus, drunk Tony," he said to the wall. "Come on, snap out of it. What are you gonna do?"

He took another deep breath, then stepped away from the wall. "Thing Two? Where's my phone?"

The phone was eagerly presented in front of him by the robotic arm. So eagerly, in fact, that it hit him in the face. Tony swore and stumbled back, one hand over his nose. "Seriously, Thing Two?" he asked, as he snatched the phone away. Thing Two backed away, looking embarrassed. "You need to think before you act."

The arm tilted to the side, as if to say, "_You're one to talk."_

"Yeah, well, I made you, so the rules don't apply to me," Tony said as he grabbed a bottle that was lying randomly on the ground, opened it, and drank at least half. "See?" he threw his arms up as if to demonstrate how high above the law he was, and then he belched impressively.

The AI didn't look convinced. Although, that was probably Tony's intoxicated imagination. It was a robotic arm, for God's sake. It _couldn't _be convinced.

Tony suddenly remembered why he had begun this weird interaction in the first place. He looked down at the phone in his hand, hesitating for a moment before dialing Fury's number.

He knew Bruce and Steve would be angry, but come on, someone had to be the logical one here. And, in some weird twist like the ending of the ninth book of a series because the author had run out of ideas, it turned out that the logical one was Tony.

It rang seven times before picking up.

"_Stark? What do you want?"_ said Agent Hill.

"Where's Fury?"

"_He's… detained. Will be for a while. Why?"_

"Something came up."

"_What?"_

"Something. Look, can I just talk to him? Like, for ten seconds?"

"_What came up?"_

Tony rolled his eyes at Thing Two. "Something. I'd prefer to tell Fury."

"_No. He's busy. Very busy. He should be back in an hour or so. You'll have to call back. He doesn't have his cell, and even if he did, he wouldn't have time to use it to talk to you about something that apparently isn't important enough that you can just tell me."_

But Tony barely knew Agent Hill, and it felt wrong to tell her. He barely knew Fury, but at least he had had a conversation with the guy. He didn't want to go blabbing to the entire world about this.

Besides, he could manage Loki for a while, at least. It wasn't like he was in any state to do anything but lie there, and Tony could handle a motionless god. Hopefully.

"I'll call you back."

"_Try in an hour. He should be back by then."_

"Okay. Thanks."

Tony hung up.

He groaned. "We're surrounded by lunatics, Thing Two."

Thing Two lowered its arm in agreement.

()()()

Bruce and Steve had moved to the corner of the room, where they were conversing in low voices. Every now and then, Bruce glanced past Steve to see that Loki was watching them intently. The white strip of cloth they had used to tie him down was stretched taut, although Bruce had been sure to not tie it too tightly.

It felt wrong to tie down a patient, even a murderous one. But if Loki got away, everything could feel much, much worse. Bruce tried not to look.

"What if he calls SHIELD?" was the first thing Steve had asked.

"He won't," Bruce had replied, but now he wasn't so sure.

It had been at least five minutes. More than enough time for Tony to call SHIELD, and more than enough time for doubts to creep into Bruce's head. He had thought Tony had meant it when he agreed not to call SHIELD, and he trusted Tony wouldn't be so impulsive, even when angry. But what if he was? What would happen then?

"I know I said we shouldn't go look for him," Bruce said quietly. "Because he seemed pretty angry, and he probably doesn't want to see us. But we should make sure he doesn't call SHIELD. I mean… you saw that too, right? His reaction?" he jerked his head in Loki's direction. "It was weird. And it didn't feel forced or put on. I don't know what to think."

Steve nodded. "Yes, I saw it."

Bruce stole a glance towards Loki. His eyes shone with the light from the window, and he lay still as a statue, watching them closely. Although he was far enough away that he surely couldn't hear their whispering, Bruce had the unsettling feeling that he caught every word.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. It was true. For one thing, it didn't help that he had recently turned into the Hulk and felt like his brain was a pan of scrambled eggs, but he was also mentally exhausted from tending to Loki, from the battle of four days ago, and above all, this batshit crazy situation they had landed themselves in. It was so complicated, but if they didn't make the right decision, innocent people could die. And Bruce didn't know what to do.

"Of course you don't. There's no way to know," Steve said. "Besides, it's not up to you to decide. I'll help."

"Yeah. I know. I'm just… I don't know. Everything about this day is wrong, and I think it's getting to me."

"Happens to the best of us. Myself included," Steve did not smile, but there was warmth in his words, in his eyes.

"Thanks," Bruce said. Then he visibly refocused, straightening to his full height. "Right. Okay. Since we can't go find Tony ourselves, think we should ask Jarvis what he's up to?"

"Sounds good," Steve said.

"Okay. I will. Out of earshot of Belle though, right? If Tony's drinking himself to death, I don't want him to know."

Steve raised an eyebrow at the nickname, nodded solemnly. He walked to the door and Bruce was about to follow him when he accidentally glanced at Loki.

He looked thinner than Bruce had remembered. Perhaps that was because he was small compared to the hospital bed. Perhaps Bruce's doctor's mind was prone to find things to worry about, when nothing was there. Either way, it was enough to make Bruce cross to Loki's bedside. "Everything fine with you?" he asked. "You tired, or thirsty, or hungry, or something? Does anything hurt?"

Loki met his eyes directly, mockingly. "No," he said, hoarsely, daring Bruce to challenge the lie.

Bruce mentally cursed his own stupidity. Of course Loki was tired - he kept falling asleep, after all. Of course he was hungry and thirsty - they hadn't offered him food or water. And Bruce wouldn't be surprised if at least one of his many injuries was painful, despite all he had done to prevent that.

"You sure?"

Loki did not bother to answer his question. Instead, his eyes dropped down to the blankets, and Bruce's moved from the blankets to the strip of cloth he was tied down with.

Loki was helpless. He had no magic, probably couldn't stand properly, and yet Bruce had allowed him to be tied down like he was some vicious animal. That wasn't right. Loki was his patient. He was a human (well, he looked like one) and it wasn't right to bind him like this, not in his state. It was disgusting.

Bruce grabbed a pair of scissors from the table, and pulled the cloth up from Loki's chest. Loki tensed when Bruce's hand brushed against him, seeming to shrink into the pillows. Bruce pulled his hand away, then returned it and cut through the cloth, ignoring Steve's bewildered glance. "Better?" he asked.

Loki's eyes searched his face, darting from his eyes to his hair to his mouth to his hands, every part of him. Bruce shifted awkwardly before he caught himself and forced himself to stay still as Loki stared at him.

And for the first time, Bruce really saw Loki. He let himself look - at the jaggedly cut hair, the broken skin of his lips, the hands that lay in fists on his chest, with red crescent moons carved into the sides of his fingers, the exact shape and size of fingernails. His eyes were forcibly expressionless, like Steve's when he was remembering, or Tony's when he was pretending to be alright. Perhaps like Bruce's sometimes, too. But, starkly dark as they were compared to his pale skin and gaunt face, they looked hollow and haunted.

Slowly, Loki nodded.

Bruce forced a smile. "Good. Do you need some water? And are you sure you don't want some food? I can get you a sandwich, or an apple, or some cheap, soggy pizza." Loki deserved to eat, he had to eat, because he was Bruce's patient and Bruce never let his patients go hungry. Sometimes he used to sit in the hospital room with them, waiting patiently and talking idly until they finished their food. He wore them down with his presence. He wasn't a doctor anymore, but the basic concept was the same.

But Loki said, "No," and his eyes left Bruce's face to focus on a point somewhere behind him. The only sign that he was not a statue was that, every so often, he blinked.

"Suit yourself," Bruce said, but he pulled a water bottle out of a cabinet and set it beside him, anyway. As soon as they sorted out this issue with Tony, he would come back and get him to eat. But right now, they had bigger problems to deal with.

Would they ever run out of problems?

When Bruce reached the door, Steve smiled at him. He opened the door and they walked out, leaving Loki alone in the hospital room. But strangely enough, Bruce wasn't worried. He knew Loki wouldn't try to escape or sneak out and kill them, if only because he was clearly too weak to do so.

They walked to the end of the hallway. "Should be far enough," Bruce said. "Jarvis? What's Tony doing?"

**Tony Stark is currently having a meaningful conversation with a robotic arm in his laboratory. I can contact him, replay video footage, or check for any calls that may have left the vicinity**

"Check for calls," Bruce said, bouncing on his heels.

**One call has been made by Tony Stark to a confidential number.**

Steve immediately took off running, and Bruce raced after him, once again cursing his short legs.

()()()

Midgardians were strange insects, indeed.

Now that Loki was able to sit up, he could see the city through the window, and the busy street below, hemmed in by a wall of skyscrapers that reflected Stark Tower and blue, blue sky.

The streets crawled with ants. Some were encased in moving prisons of metal - cars, he thought they were called - but many walked about unprotected. He could make out no more than colors - bright blonde hair, dark skin, light skin, a red dress. They scurried about through their anthill, into and out of doors, crossing the street, hurrying past each other. It was dull and small and fascinating.

They were his. He was above them, high, high in this tower. He was their rightful king and he would gather them in handfuls and crush them with his fists, and the street would be stained with their blood. But it wouldn't _matter, _no one would miss them, because they were ants and they passed by like leaves in the wind. He could blink and they would be gone.

_And yet they wander about free, and you are captive in the tower you look down on them from._

_Does a king count as a king if he is powerless and alone?_

_If he bows to another?_

_If he cannot find the means to kill his greatest enemies?_

Loki touched the bottle of water that sat on a table beside his bed. Cool to the touch. And he was thirsty, and wouldn't it feel good to quench his thirst?

He hurled it at the wall, left-handed. It bounced harmlessly to the ground. Loki swallowed and blinked.

_Your fault._

_You did this to yourself._

_Because you love your brokenness. You encase yourself in it like armor, and are so mad as to think it keeps you safe._

All Loki could do was stare numbly at the wall, beaten back by the torrent of words that spilled from his own fractured mind. Then again, he didn't try hard to resist. He was too tired.

_You can do nothing. You cannot bring yourself to lie for fear of losing your pride, but who are you if not a liar?_

_Are you a god? No, no, we all know that is not true. We all know of the hideous blue that lurks beneath your false skin._

_Are you a king? Ha! _

_Thanos' most prized possession? Perhaps he truly needs you. Perhaps you have some worth, if only to advance his reign, and to fall into the shadows behind his throne._

_No._

_He does not need you. But he chose you to hurl yourself into the unknown, to be killed at your enemies' hands. He knew you were not strong enough, even with your magic. He wanted to watch the fireworks._

_You are only alive because you are so weak that you allowed Odin to steal away your magic. You were forced to nearly kill yourself to gain the Avengers' favor, but you cannot kill them because you cannot bring yourself to lie and lose your pride._

_Ah, you make me laugh, Laufeyson, that you think you have any pride, that it has not all been stomped into the concrete by Banner's other half and turned to rubble and dust._

Loki's eyes fell on the water bottle, which had rolled across the floor to bump into the side of one of the Midgardian healing machines. The water within rose and fell like waves.

A trick. The bottle had to be a trick. Why would Banner offer him water? Banner was the same one who had thrown him into the concrete, who had broken his ribs, four days ago. By all rights, he should have let Loki die. As should the rest of them. What was their plan? What could they get out of this?

Loki couldn't think of anything, and that made him uneasy. He didn't know why he was being kept alive.

His plan had worked, and he hadn't the faintest idea why.

It made him want to laugh.

So he did.

()()()

_Star: yeah, Loki's magic was already taken temporarily by Odin's spell. However, after a few hours, the effects will wear off and the only thing preventing him from using his magic will be Tony's invention. And yeah, I liked the Frozen reference too, mostly for the fact that it implies Tony has seen the movie!_

Any and all reviews are stupendous! And no, I'm not just saying that. Everytime I get a review, I pause everything I'm doing to read it, and they always make me smile so thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

_After I posted the last chapter, I got 4 reviews on it that same night! Nothing like that has ever happened to me before, so thank you all so much for your support!_

_Also, I got that job I mentioned in the first A/N! It won't affect my posting schedule, or anything, really, but I'll mention it anyway, lol. Call it a little life update, if anyone cares. It's my first real job (I had a job writing for this weird website once, but I never finished the story lol) so. Yeah, if you care, now you know. _

_This chapter is a bit of a tough one, so maybe don't eat with your chicken nuggets? _

_Thanks for DocWordsmith and tincturedwords for beta reading!_

()()()

Outside the golden walls, a storm raged. Practically a hurricane, it boiled and billowed, swelling like the tides. A deep, furious black, spiked by brilliant flashes of lightning and great booms of thunder, unleashing vicious torrents of heavy rain.

Suffice it to say, Thor Odinson was still very, very angry.

He paced before the golden steps of the throne room, while Odin stood by, scepter in hand, and Frigga looked out the window at the storm outside. Thor's footsteps were like a drumbeat, fingers clenched tightly around his hammer. Earlier, he had hurled it at the wall in a haze of rage. There was a crater in the wall behind Odin's throne.

Thor ranted, restating things he had already said over and over, not bothering to rephrase them. "Can't believe he would do this…"

"My own brother, for Norn's sakes! Is it too much to ask to have at least _one_ sane family member?"

"And after I extended my hospitality to him! I came to see him when no one else would!"

That was when Frigga cleared her throat pointedly, for the third time, and Thor backtracked, for the third time. "Ah, sorry mother, I forgot you went to see him as well. And, of course, you two are both sane. So am I, I suppose. Less so now, of course."

Then he continued to pace.

"But how will we get him back? How can we know where he has gone? Heimdall said he 'couldn't see beyond the mists,' or whatever it was. How can we find him?"

"Yes, Thor, we are aware that we are in a precarious situation here. You have been telling us for an hour," Odin said.

He was holding tightly to Frigga's hand. "We are as concerned for your brother as you are, but there is nothing we can do at this point."

His one eyes looked straight into Thor's. Odin was not one for avoiding the truth. There had been no sugarcoating to be had in the last hour, and Thor felt very bitter indeed.

He kicked a stair. "All I wanted was to help him! And yet he would join the Mad Titan, he would attack the Midgardian city… I thought he may have been forced into it, that it might not have been his fault after all, but at the first opportunity he has gone crawling back."

"Yes, we are aware," Odin said.

"Let him be angry," Frigga murmured into Odin's ear, "Let him be angry until he has no anger left. It is what he needs."

Thor glared in irritation. Did they think he was deaf?

Odin regarded Thor coldly. "Yes, be angry, but once you have calmed down enough to be useful; we must consider how to tell the public, how to fortify our borders, how best to track the Titan's movements, how…"

"No thought for Loki?" Thor looked directly into his father's eye. "Surely we must attempt to get him back. Track him, follow him. Find Thanos and we could sneak in and get him out…"

"Loki has made his choice." Odin's voice rang out, heavy with hidden anger. Frigga's other hand moved to grip his forearm. "He will be treated the same as any of Thanos' creatures."

Thor's hands were white-knuckled around Mjolnir's handle. "But he is your son!"

Odin raised his head. "I am king. Loki has committed treason, and has killed many. I cannot favor him above any other criminal. These are the choices that must be made when ruling a realm. It is not an easy choice, but a necessary one. Someday you will understand."

Thor was no child. He understood full well. He was angry at the truth of it. The storm that raged was to fill the absence of his brother, who, although not dead, was lost forever. Loki had fallen so swiftly in so many ways, had turned into something Thor did not recognize, and it was too late to bring him back. They could return his body to Asgard if they desired, they could lock it away behind chains and glass. But Loki's mind was already lost and could never be returned.

He had smiled as he killed them. He had thrown his hands to the sky and ordered them to kneel. He had betrayed his brother, his family, his realm. And Thor, despite his overflowing, ever-forgiving heart, could not forgive that.

"I am so angry," he said to the ground. His shoulders slumped and he dropped Mjolnir to the ground. It hit with a mighty thud_. _"I feel like a part of me has been torn away and hurled into the Void, and I am so angry at its loss."

He wanted to rip apart the sky.

Frigga, after waiting for so long, finally stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a delicate, queenly embrace. "My son," she said, softly, and Thor knew she was speaking about him. "I am so sorry you must suffer this way. You do not deserve it."

Thor could not return her embrace, but he did lean his head on her shoulder. When at last she pulled away, she smiled sadly and wiped away a tear he had not realized was there. He smiled in return. "Thank you."

He turned to Odin. "And how do you propose we tell the public?"

()()()

Loki was staring out the window when he heard a soft knock on the hospital room door. Quickly, he lay back down. Better to appear tired than awake. But the blankets remained bunched up at the foot of the bed. Loki hated them - they made him feel like he was being smothered.

"Mind if I come in?" Banner's voice came from the other side.

Loki wondered why he had bothered knocking. He had no obligation to do so. What was with Midgardians and asking for things when they didn't have to? It wasn't as if Loki could refuse him access.

But since he was asking, Loki deeply considered telling him to go away, and never come back in.

But that wasn't what Loki was here for.

"No," he said, once again wincing at the state of his voice.

"Oh. Good." The door swung open, and Banner poked his head in. "It's just me, by the way. Steve is talking with Tony, or trying to. I wanted to come see you alone. I can see how it might have been stressful, all three of us yelling at you." Banner took a deep breath. "Um… we think Tony might have called SHIELD. That's why Steve's talking to him - to try to get him not to. Hopefully he hasn't already. But if he did… they would be here soon, and they would take you to a prison cell somewhere."

Loki's eyes snapped to Banner.

SHIELD was not part of the plan. SHIELD would ruin everything. If Thanos discovered he had been captured by SHIELD - which he surely would - he would discover that the Avengers were alive, he would learn of Loki's injuries, his lack of magic… And if he knew that, he would kill him.

Thanos was not one to torture his victims. He considered himself above that. It would be a quick, painless death, and Loki wouldn't see it coming. Somehow, that was worse.

His heart beat faster.

"SHIELD can't come here. Don't let them…" unconsciously, he clenched his fists, dug his nails into the sides of his fingers. His eyes darted to the window, to the door, to Banner. No way out. No way to fix this. He was trapped, he would fail, he would die.

Banner's eyes were on Loki. Loki met them, forcing himself to look afraid. It was easy, because he was, but it would have been easier to shove the emotion behind a sarcastic smile or blank eyes. He felt stripped naked.

"Don't call SHIELD," he said, holding out a hand in front of himself, as if to say _stop._ "Please…" the word came out too quietly, stuck in his throat. He took a deep, steadying breath, and braced himself for what he was about to say. "_Please_ don't call SHIELD."

_Begging, are we?_

_It suits you._

_Finally, the Frost Giant knows his place._

Banner walked to the bed, and stood beside it. He said, "You should have told us. Okay? You really should. But I'll give you one more chance. Just tell _me_, and I can convince Tony to let you stay here. I'll find any way I possibly can to convince him, if that's what you want. I'll give you a chance."

"_Why?_" the word fell from his lips. He did not understand. None of this made sense.

Banner stuck his hands in his pockets. "Because I need to know what happened to you. I need to. I'm a doctor, and a scientist. If there's a question, I need the answer. And I've got a lot of questions, and not many answers, and not much time. But Loki, if you need help, I _want to help you._"

Loki focused on looking out the window, at the blue sky, at the birds that circled and dived. He did not look at the busy street below, he did not look at the ants.

"Why?" he asked, again. "You're making a clear tactical error. You're trusting your enemy."

Banner laughed sharply. "Oh, no. I don't trust you. But something about this smells fishy to me. It has since the beginning. At least, it should have. But I've got to put aside my prejudice and try to find the truth. Another career to add to my growing list - detective!" he laughed again.

_Now is your chance._

_The fool will listen to you._

_Lie to him._

_Do it._

_Fill his eager spirit with your darkness, corrupt him._

_Everything you touch is tainted._

_You will ruin him. You must ruin him._

Loki hugged himself with his arms. He wanted so badly to slip back behind his mask of sarcasm and bitterness, but that would get him killed and he was already so close to the edge, looking down into that yawning abyss. He had to do this, had to.

"What happened to you?" Banner asked.

Loki did not look at him. Could not look at anything.

_Shall I tell him?_

'_A simple answer, Doctor Banner._

'_I am so insane that I beat myself nearly to death and bathed in my own blood._

'_Broke my own bones, threw myself against the bricks of the alleyway._

'_A just punishment for the worthlessness I am._

'_It is a pity I did not finish the job.'_

_And yet you cling to life like a leech, sucking dry everything that is good and pure, and feeding off the darkness as well. To your own madness - me - you hand the best of yourself on a silver platter. I own your mind, Laufeyson, Frost Giant. Only a matter of time before I own the rest of you._

_And you would claim to own these ants._

_Claim to be above anything but dirt and worms._

_You disgust me._

Loki felt numb.

Something touched his shoulder. He jerked away violently, and stared open-mouthed at Banner, who had pulled his hand away.

"Something's off about you," Banner said. "It doesn't feel like an act. You seem scared. Really scared. I'm not a psychiatrist, but… I mean, you're breathing at a hundred miles a minute, and I'm sure your heart rate is skyrocketing… and all I did was touch you. You won't tell us what happened. If you were trying to trick us, surely you would have said something by now? But you haven't."

"I don't know you. I don't know a thing about you. So to me, it isn't so far-fetched to think that…" his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, "Especially considering how you looked when you got here. Someone obviously did that to you… there are all the signs…"

Loki could have laughed. His plan had worked and he hadn't begun it. Banner thought he had been - what? Abused? Tortured? And Loki hadn't said a word.

_Little does he know your abuser was not Thanos, nor any living being, but your own mind._

"Just nod if I'm right. You don't have to say anything. But please, I have to know. And I can convince Tony to let you stay here, instead of with SHIELD. Nod if I'm right."

Yes, yes, that was what he needed - to stay. He _did not want to die._

Loki wrenched his eyes away from the window and forced them to meet Banner's. Banner's eyes were deep, concerned, compassionate. Some mutual understanding passed through the both of them, and Loki knew he no longer needed to nod, but he did anyway.

Then he wanted to speak.

'_Please let me stay.'_

'_If Thanos finds me he will kill me."_

'_I need to stay.'_

'_I'm so broken.'_

'_I want to sleep.'_

'_What is wrong with me?'_

'_I don't want to die. Don't let me die.'_

Instead, he said, "Why should you believe me?"

Banner reached to touch him again. Loki shrank back, coward that he was, and hated himself for it. Earlier, hadn't he pretended to be afraid of their touch, to shrink back against the pillows? But now he could not seem to make himself let Banner come near.

When had he become so afraid? Hadn't he burned with anger, earlier that day? It had consumed him, and it had been _sweet. _Why couldn't he have that back?

Had it fled from him when he realized he could easily die within the hour, when Thanos found him? Had it gone at some time as the minutes ticked by like a death march, as he stared out the window? Or had it drifted away on the voice's words, as they cut at him like an axe, chipping him away? Or was it some awful combination of all three?

Either way, he wanted it back. Without it, if he wanted to escape death, he would have to kill Banner, and Rogers, and Stark, without any rage to propel him forward. He would have to look them in their fleeting, human eyes and turn them to blank, expressionless nothings on the ground.

Oh, he could do it.

But it just might kill him.

"I do believe you. Don't worry. But… can't you tell me what happened?" Banner pressed. "You don't have to tell me. But you can."

He looked hopeful, standing in the center of the hospital room, above Loki, who sat on the bed with his nails in his hands and his teeth in his lip and wished he had the strength to stand so he wasn't always, always below everything else.

"Or, at least, you could tell me why you decided to come here. It's a strange choice. And it's why I don't know if I can entirely believe you - although I want to - because it doesn't make sense. We're your enemies. Why here?"

An easy question. Loki could twist the truth and fit it into an answer. "It was closest," he said, again. "I was already in New York. Anyone else would have recognized me and killed me on sight, but… I thought you wouldn't. And it was closest."

"Is that what you think of humans? We don't mindlessly go around killing each other. You would have gone through the justice system like any other…" he paused. "Criminal. And it would have been pretty useless. Life in prison is about, oh, sixty years? You live for millennia."

He smiled. "But then again, I doubt SHIELD would let you go to normal prison - they would have taken you back to their headquarters. So you made a good call, coming to us, although the execution was off. You didn't have to make Tony so angry."

Banner was still smiling.

_But that is what he does._

_He angers and ruins and breaks and breaks._

_Did you not know?_

Loki wanted to hurl himself at the wall, to break his bones, to shatter the window and carve sweet lines of pain into his arms for a moment of relief, for something, anything resembling sanity.

How had it been before? When he was whole?

He could not remember.

Frantically, he dug through his memories, trying to recall something quiet, anything quiet, but it slipped through his fingers and was replaced by the darkness and the taunting voice that echoed through his mind and tore him to pieces. Had his mind ever been quiet?

He needed pain.

Needed this to stop.

"Please," Banner said. "Tell me what happened."

Loki wanted to tell him. Wanted to lie to him, and do it beautifully, so Banner would believe him and Loki wouldn't have to die. But he couldn't speak, because he couldn't breathe.

"Are you okay?" Banner sounded concerned. "Your breathing is speeding up. You're shaking. What's wrong?" He reached out, stopping halfway to Loki's hand, which rested on the soft mattress, shaking. "Does anything hurt?"

No. No, nothing hurt, and that was the problem. No matter how brutally he carved his nails into his palms, how ruthlessly he bit down on the inside of his cheek - until it drew blood - it was not enough, and he couldn't stop shaking_._

Funny, how earlier he had pretended to be afraid, and now he truly, truly was.

What was wrong with him?

Banner touched Loki on the arm. Loki stiffened, but did not pull away. So Banner placed a hand over Loki's heart.

"Shit," he muttered. And a finger on his wrist, feeling his pulse. "Damn." He placed his hands on Loki's shoulders, looking intently into his eyes. "Loki. Loki. Can you hear me? What's wrong?"

"I need… I need to be alone," Loki managed to choke out. He heaved a massive, stuttered breath, trying to calm down, but he knew it would not work. He knew what he needed. "A few minutes. Please."

Banner did not move for several seconds, searching Loki's eyes. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. A few minutes, if it'll make you feel better."

"Truly alone. No watching over the cameras. Please."

"Yeah, Yeah. Anything you want." Banner let go of Loki's shoulders, but did not walk away. Loki forced his breathing into a slower, more even rhythm. "A few minutes." Banner said. He stared into Loki's eyes for a moment longer, then turned and left the room.

Loki staggered to his feet.

_Pathetic, pathetic, see how he begs for pain. He is the reason his mind has been cut in two. No one else to blame, Laufeyson._

_But do the deed, drive me away._

_I will return._

_I always return._

_No escape._

Loki stood shaking, back to the wall. He drove his head backwards, reopening the old wound, sending a dizzying pain through his body like an electric shock. Blood dripped down the strands of his jagged hair, hair he had cut with glass in the alleyway.

_You'll have to try harder than that. I barely felt it._

He could not throw himself at the wall, he was too weak. So instead he staggered to the table of silvery machines, grabbed a needle, and stabbed it into his leg. Again and again and again. He choked on the pain. He struggled to stand.

But it was beautiful, like a long sleep, and finally waking up well rested. He could think clearly, despite the throbbing through his skull.

It felt like freedom.

This was what he had felt like, before the voice. This was goodness. This was sanity. This was what it meant to be whole. And he never, ever wanted it to end.

He threw a silver device at the window. It shattered, and shards of glass glittered on the ground. He stared at them greedily. They were like jewels.

_A king must have his riches._

_Go on then, Laufeyson._

_You will defeat me._

_And to the victor go the spoils._

()()()

Bruce found Steve in the kitchen. Of course he did. He was seated at the table, with his shield on one knee and a cloth in the other, polishing it. Bruce suspected it was therapeutic, or something, the repetitive back-and-forth motion, watching the metal slowly begin to shine. Or he was obsessive.

Bruce opened his mouth, then realized he did not want to talk about what had happened. It seemed like something secret, sacred. Loki hadn't given him permission to tell, so he wouldn't, though Steve's eyes were alight with curiosity. He had even paused in his polishing.

Bruce opened the refrigerator and pulled out a square of American cheese, a package of deli meat, and a jar of pickles. "Any bread?" he asked.

"No," Steve said.

"What? How does Tony not have bread?"

No reply.

Bruce rooted around until he dug up a bag of tortillas and some guacamole. Of course Tony would have guacamole but no bread. "Think Loki would like a quesadilla?"

"I don't know."

Bruce looked up. "What did Tony say?"

"He wouldn't let me in."

"Shit."

"What did Loki say?"

Bruce did not look at Steve. Instead, he ripped up some cheese and layered it on a tortilla, covered it with another tortilla, and stuck the whole thing in the toaster oven. When that left him with no excuse for ignoring Steve, he dug in the freezer and pulled out a carton of ice cream. He checked the expiration date and sighed.

"Bruce."

"Hmm?"

"What happened?"

Bruce pulled out three more cartons, checking their expiration dates. "I shouldn't say. Loki told me in confidence, I think. Anyway, he didn't say much. You didn't miss much."

"You said his name."

Bruce paused. He had, hadn't he? "So did you. That was stupid anyway, how we all decided not to say it. Loki. There. No so difficult, after all."

Bruce scooped some ice cream into a bowl. It was chocolate, but he still sprinkled chocolate chips on top. Hopefully, Loki would be able to keep at least the quesadilla down, and possibly a bite or two of ice cream. Bruce smiled at the thought of the demigod eating ice cream like a little kid. He would probably love it.

Bruce cut up an apple, decided Loki might object to that, as it might seem like Bruce was treating him like a child, and replaced it with an uncut one. He took a bite of one of the pieces. "Want some?" he asked, around a bite, holding up an apple chunk.

"No."

"Suit yourself. I'm hungry. And I'm no help to anyone with an empty stomach."

But in truth, Bruce was eating because it was something to do. Otherwise, he would have to stand around uselessly, and he would have to think about what Loki had said - and not said. A million thoughts would have raced unbidden through his head, then he would think about SHIELD, he himself would start to panic, and the Other Guy would come out and ruin everything.

No, it was better to eat.

No response but the quiet sound of Steve polishing his shield.

The toaster beeped. Bruce took out the quesadilla and smothered it in guacamole. "Okay. I'll take this to Loki. See you again in a few minutes." Bruce looked directly at Steve's eyes, but Steve either did not see, or did not acknowledge him.

"I could come with you."

"Do you want to?"

There was a clunk as Steve set his shield on the table. "Yes."

"Okay."

()()()

"Fury? Hill? I know it hasn't been an hour, but seriously, can you come any sooner?"

Tony pressed a button to leave the voicemail. He scrolled through the texts he had sent to Fury - pathetically, seven of them, all exploiting varying tactics of persuasion, and none of them had been acknowledged.

He _was _like a fawning maiden.

Then he stared at the ceiling and seethed in his anger. Like a tooth in a can of soda, he was slowly eaten away.

()()()

Loki said, "Come in," after the fourth knock.

Bruce glanced at Steve. He was holding the cup of ice cream, and Bruce held the quesadilla. It was so hot that it hurt his hand, even through the plate. "Ready?" Bruce whispered, with an encouraging smile.

"Always," Steve said.

Bruce opened the door.

Loki looked better. His five minute break must have been pretty relaxing. He lay on his side, a faint smile on his face. His breaths were even. He had drawn the blanket up over his legs. Good, because it was pretty cold in here. Bruce would have to be that obnoxious person who adjusts the thermostat without consulting anyone else.

"Hey," Bruce said. "We brought you a quesadilla, ice cream, and why is the window broken?"

Loki seemed faintly amused. "I threw something at it."

Bruce laughed. "Ah, don't worry. I've broken windows before, too. You're all good. In fact, you look good. Better than earlier."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

"Interesting."

Bruce smiled and Steve set the quesadilla, ice cream, and apple on the table by the bed. "When was the last time you ate, anyway?"

It was phrased as an innocent question, but Bruce was morbidly curious to know if whoever had done this to Loki had bothered to feed him.

"This morning," Loki said, eyes on the quesadilla. "Although, I will gladly accept your offering."

"No problem. I made it for you."

Loki's eyes darted from the food, to Bruce, and back again. "Thank you." His voice came out strange, hoarse and whispered. Loki cleared his throat. "Thank you," he repeated.

"No problem."

Loki did that short exhale that was actually a laugh. "It is one. But you do a good job of pretending."

Bruce furrowed his brows. "I'm not pretending."

The quesadilla must be fascinating, because Loki was studying it intently. His lips were chapped, bloodied. There were fresh nail marks in his hands. When Bruce looked closer, he saw that Loki's hands were shaking slightly, as if adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Bruce pursed his lips, but didn't ask.

"We have to go. We really need to talk to Tony," Bruce said, when Loki did not reply.

Loki folded his arms over his chest.. Unbidden, unwanted, the image flashed through Bruce's mind - of Loki lying so still and so bloodied on the ground, one arm at an unnatural angle, his head lolling to the side as if he were dead, and not for the first, or last, time, Bruce wondered what monster would do that to another person.

"Bye," he said, awkwardly.

Loki met his eyes. "Farewell."

Bruce nodded, smiled. He went to leave, but noticed that the water he had left for Loki had fallen under a table. Bruce didn't question it. He picked it up, set it on the table beside Loki's bed, and left.

()()()

Steve stayed.

For only a moment longer.

Loki regarded him silently, sitting cross-legged in his bed. "Whatever you told Bruce," Steve said. "You can tell me, too. You don't have to worry, I'll listen, and I won't laugh at you, or whatever you're afraid of."

Loki's hands were clasped tightly in his lap. He nodded, slowly, but did not speak.

"Okay," Steve said. "See you."

He turned, and his eyes fell upon the little trash bin in the corner, and a heap of bloodied rags that lay in it. He froze, and his eyes darted back to Loki.

"Coughing," Loki said, quietly. "Common symptoms for Aesir. It is nothing, and it will pass."

Steve was not a doctor. Especially not an alien one. But he knew enough to know that coughing up blood was never a good sign. "If you need anything, I can call back Bruce and he can help you. We both can help you."

"No, there is nothing that I need," Loki said. "Aside from peace and quiet."

Steve nodded.

He swallowed. And he walked away.

()()()

_Guest: I wasn't aware that that was canon? I thought it was just a fan theory, or something a lot of fic writers implemented. Either way, it's not the case in this fic, no. Loki will, indeed, have to be held responsible for his own actions._

_Star: I'm glad you find my little attempts at humor funny . And I love nicknames too! Bruce and Loki's relationship is one that I love developing and I do enjoy throwing in little tidbits like that. _

Please leave a review! As you can probably tell, I love them a lot. :)


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks to all you lovely reviewers! You guys are amazeballs! :)_

_Thanks to everyone who favorited/followed this story! Y'all are spectacular._

_And thanks to everyone who has just taken the time to read this, as well! _

_And, of course, thanks to DocWordsmith and tincturedwords for beta reading this chapter._

_Anyway! That's enough thanking for now. Enjoy the chapter!_

**()()()**

Bruce paused outside Tony's door. This situation was delicate - he needed to think it through. What was it Loki had said? Something about tactical errors? Bruce could not make a tactical error here.

So Bruce sat on the floor and worked through the possibilities, logically, orderly, like he was performing a difficult surgery. It took time, patience, and care - and Bruce had thirty minutes.

He leaned his forehead against the door, eyes closed, hands fidgeting in his lap.

"Come _on, _Bruce. Think."

He didn't normally talk to himself, but sometimes, when he was stressed, it helped to give himself orders, things to do. Like someone else was ordering him around and all he had to do was follow, and the worst that could happen was he would get fired. Like a normal job. Oh, how Bruce wished he could have a normal job. (That was a lie - he would hate it. But right now, spending his life in a cubicle sounded pretty appealing.)

"Why won't he believe you? Well, Loki didn't help by going all rogue and insulting us, but besides that. He can't accept that it might be true. Doesn't want it to be true. Is that it?"

"Because, if it's true and it wasn't Loki's fault, Tony can't hand him over to SHIELD. He'll have to leave his room, have to leave his tower… He'll have to face what happened, and he isn't ready for that. He's shutting himself out, which is a classic sign he's trying to avoid it, to pretend it never happened."

But what was Bruce supposed to do about that? He was a scientist - He solved math problems, not emotions. All he ever did with emotions was shove them away.

But Tony was exactly the opposite. He thought with his heart, as much as he'd like to pretend otherwise. If Bruce could appeal to that…

Bruce's heart sank as he realized what he had to do. Poor Loki… Bruce doubted he would want Tony to see him in his moment of weakness, but it was the only way.

Still sitting, Bruce tried the handle - because why not? - and gasped out-loud when it twisted all the way, and the door swung open, and Bruce nearly lost his balance. Why hadn't Tony locked the door? That was unsettlingly out-of-character for him.

Bruce jumped to his feet and hurried inside before Tony could get one of his machines to close the door.

But, after quickly glancing at the disaster that was Tony's room, Bruce knew why he hadn't bothered to lock the door. Tony was asleep. Fully asleep, like he hadn't been in days. One arm dangled over the side of his bed, his mouth was agape, and from it came deep, periodical snores. His chest rose and fell peacefully as he breathed, the light from the arc reaction casting a dim glow through the dark.

Bruce stared at him. "Shit," he said, for the third time that day.

()()()

Tony was dreaming - a really fucking nice dream that he forgot as soon as Bruce started shaking him by the shoulder. Tony was forced to fall back on his reflexes and slap him in the face.

Reflexes… yeah. That was the only reason he had done that.

But damn, did it feel good when Bruce jumped away, rubbing his red cheek, scowling like an impudent child. Tony grinned at him, but it turned into a magnificent yawn. A hollow pit of tiredness settled into his stomach, right next to several others, clearly marked: "hunger", "thirst", "raging alcoholism", "the craving for love and attention", and "shit, I'm ridiculously hungover, but I want another drink. Where's a convenient cliff when you need one?"

Bruce threw his hands up. "Sorry, I…"

Tony sat up. "You want another?" He raised his hand threateningly.

"What?"

Tony disentangled himself from his blankets. "I'm crazy drunk. My liver's being slowly eaten alive. So you don't know what I'll do. I'm unpredictable. Mysterious." He slid down from his bed and stretched, arms in the air. His back cracked luxuriously.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

"_You could be more specific. You've done lots to be sorry for." _But Tony didn't say that. Instead, he said, "No problem. It's like water off a penguin's back. Swoosh." He sliced the air with his hand to accompany the sound effect, as he paced the perimeter of his room, stepping on dirty clothes, not caring. He swallowed down a bitter, stale taste of alcohol in his mouth, but it lingered, stuck to his gums and in between his teeth. Tasted like cardboard.

"Can I show you something?" Bruce asked.

Tony walked around him to reach the door. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out. Do whatever you want." He waved a hand through the air dismissively, opened the door, and began to totter like a three year old down the hallway.

"It was on the cameras. The ones you've got hooked up to the entire tower." Bruce was trailing behind him, occasionally running to keep up. He smelled like guacamole. Don't ask why, but Tony could _always_ smell guac, if there was guac to be smelled. And Bruce smelled like guac.

"What was?" Tony had a suspicion that he already knew what this was about. He would have turned and gone straight back into his room, but he was hungry, and he wanted Mexican.

"Why didn't you lock your door, anyway?" Bruce asked, ignoring Tony's question. Tony barely noticed.

He took a wrong turn on the way to the elevator, then backtracked, blinking at the hallways. He would _not _get lost in his own tower. That would be humiliating.

"There's no point. Either you walk in like a civilized person, or you get all pissy, go green, and trash my room." As he said it, Tony knew he was being unfair, but he wasn't exactly in any state to care about anything that wasn't food. His head pounded. The lights were too bright.

"Fair point," Bruce said, quietly. He sounded subdued. Like he had taken Tony's words in stride, or even believed them.

Tony finally remembered the way to the elevator and set off quickly, forcing Bruce to run after him. But when Tony saw the elevator, all he could do was stare at it, like it was going to eat him.

"You know what? I think I'll take the stairs, get some exercise." He said.

They then proceeded to trudge up nine flights of stairs, making Tony wonder why his room and the kitchen weren't on the same floor, because they were the two places he frequented most often.

Once he reached the top, Bruce was wheezing, a flight or so behind, so Tony continued on undisturbed. Steve was sitting at the table, his shield in on hand, a cloth in the other, and an uneaten bag of microwave popcorn on his knee. Tony grabbed it and shoved a few handfuls in his mouth. Saltiness quickly replaced the cardboard taste.

He leaned against the counter, next to an opened package of deli meat. Naturally, he pulled out a slice, smushed it into a ball, and tossed it up and down.

"Are you…" Steve began.

Bruce trudged dramatically through the door, panting. He put both hands on his knees as he fought for breath. "Wait," he gasped.

"Jeez, you're out of shape when you're not the Green Giant," Tony muttered. He didn't care if Bruce would be hurt by his words.

"Wait," Bruce said, again. He straightened. "You… need to hear me out. _Please,_ Tony."

Tony threw the ball of deli meat into the sink, and slid down from the counter. "Hell no."

"It's important. Really important. I think - I _know_ \- you're making a big mistake."

Tony whirled on him, slamming a fist against the wall. "_No!" _he shouted, making Bruce step back, hands in the air, but Tony _didn't care_ because he was beyond caring, he didn't care about _anything._ "No, I'm not the one making a mistake. Do you wanna know who is? _You._ You're falling right into his trap, and making _me,_" he knocked his fist against the arc reactor in his chest, "The one who has to find a way to get his ugly ass out of here! I'm a wreck and I'm so drunk I should be _dead_ and I need to get a therapist or, hell, I could always hurl myself of a cliff - but I _still_ won't let _Loki_ hurt another soul in my city. And you know what's funny about that?" He pointed a finger at Bruce. "The two of you are supposed to be heroes, too."

He laughed, bitterly. "So you can give the hell up, Banner. I won't rest until that monster is behind bars. Oh, and you can consider yourselves officially _kicked out_ of my tower."

He didn't know if he meant it. He didn't know much of anything, because everything was spinning. Tony caught himself against the wall, then staggered forward, towards the door, towards an escape. Back to his room he would go, to drown himself in alcohol and inch ever so slowly closer to death - wasting away his life, but he didn't _care_.

Didn't care.

But Bruce was grabbing onto his arm, was pulling him back, was saying something. Tony blinked through the fog.

"Loki had a panic attack, Tony. Okay? He had a panic attack. It was real - I can tell. I know you won't believe me, but what if you're wrong? What then? Then he's innocent, and you have to… you can't just…" Bruce let go of Tony's arm and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He looked stressed out. His face was tinged green, like he was going to throw up.

Oh shit.

"Tony… I'm…" Bruce hugged himself with his arms, stumbling backwards.

Tony grabbed Bruce's shoulders. There was a scrape as Steve pushed aside his chair, and then Steve was beside him, holding his shield, and Bruce was panicking. "Don't, don't, don't, don't," Steve said, squeezing Bruce's shoulders. "You hear me? You can fight this."

Bruce frantically shook his head. "No, I can't… I can't, I'm sorry, I can't, you have to get out of here, Tony, you have to get your suit on..." he looked down at his hands, but Tony did not follow his gaze, did not check if they were green. He kept his eyes on Bruce's face.

Bruce was scared, so scared, and Tony cared.

A sudden - possibly drunken - impulse overtook him and he pushed Steve aside and wrapped Bruce up in his arms, so tightly that he _couldn't_ shake, that his body didn't have _room_ to grow and mutate and roar. "You're good, you're good," he said, clapping a hand against Bruce's back. "Your skin is white as snow. You're good. Hang in there, big guy. S'all good."

Eventually, Bruce pushed Tony away. "He's gone!" he cried, examining his hands in wonder. "He's actually gone!"

"They don't call me, 'Tony Stark: miracle worker' for nothing," Tony said. He grinned because he was so relieved.

Bruce looked up at Tony, his mouth open in what Tony would like to think was awe. Two unspoken apologies hung in the air, but did they really need to be said?

"Are _we_ good?" Bruce asked.

Tony scratched his forearm. "Yeah, I think so. Steve?"

"Good as new," Steve said, smiling.

()()()

Bruce led them both back to Tony's room. Tony shifted uncomfortably as Steve's eyes swept over the state of his room, but they were soon both distracted by what Bruce was pulling up on Tony's laptop.

"Jarvis recorded everything that happened in the hospital room since Loki arrived, yeah?" Bruce asked.

"Ever since I told him to, yes," Tony replied. He and Steve were standing behind Bruce's chair, peering over his shoulder.

"Okay. Then…" Bruce pulled up the video recording. Nearly two hours of footage. He rewound to fifteen minutes ago. "There's me and him." The screen showed a fuzzy Bruce and Loki, Steve standing to the side. They were talking in static voices.

"It was closest," the video-Loki said.

And after a few moments of conversation, video-Bruce said, "Tell me what happened. I won't tell anyone. Doctor's vow."

And Loki started to hyperventilate.

Something twisted, old and rotten and ugly, in Tony's heart. Perhaps it was the rusted blade of a knife that had been stabbed through his chest and never removed. It felt like it.

He remembered hurtling through space as stars whizzed past his head like bullets, he remembered the gaping mouth of the wormhole closing slowly ahead of him, he remembered the fact that he was going to die and how it stole away his breath, leaving him clawing for air. The terror had shoved its way down his throat instead, filling his lungs, suffocating him from the inside out.

Video-Bruce reached out a hand, and Loki flinched back like he was scared Bruce was going to hurt him. His hair fell over his face, shielding it, but Tony knew what it would look like. Fighting to pretend he wasn't afraid, the mask half-on, but not enough, and eventually it would fall away and he couldn't… couldn't pretend anymore. No matter how hard he tried, some piece of himself always shone through in his eyes. It was useless to pretend.

He wasn't thinking about Loki anymore.

Pepper always saw. One time, Tony had been happy, so happy, because he had finished a project he was working on or gotten laid - he couldn't remember which - and he tried to appear somber when he met her at the door, but she smiled in that exasperated way of hers and said, "What now?"

And there was the time, with the whiskey, on the balcony… "You're thinking about something," she had said, in that vague way of hers, leaving him to explain. But her tone of voice made it clear she knew whatever he was thinking about wasn't the whiskey, wasn't anything happy, even though it was supposed to be a happy night.

She was right, of course. He had had Afghanistan on the mind. That was why he stole back the whiskey in the first place - it was something fun to distract himself. He always needed a distraction. And god, did he miss Pepper.

"That was definitely real," Tony said. His voice came out all wrong.

Steve looked at him, confused. But Bruce looked sympathetic, understanding. Tony didn't like that. Bruce wasn't supposed to read into this. He wasn't supposed to be like Pepper, wasn't supposed to be able to tell what Tony was thinking, or feeling.

Tony looked away from the screen, towards the wreck that was his room, but it was easier to look at. "You know what? I'll think about it. I'll consider it." He clasped his hands behind his head and fixed his eyes on the ceiling.

"But what about the SHIELD? SHIELD'll be here soon. We don't have much time!" Bruce cried, moving to stand in front of Tony.

Tony folded his arms. "Fury's not coming, okay? Not officially. He wasn't there and Hill told me to call back."

Bruce stared at him. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"So… you could call him back and tell him you were crazy drunk and having a hallucination?"

"Technically. Although, I don't know if he'd believe it."

"Trust me, he would."

Tony smiled, while rolling his eyes. "If you're going to go check up on 'Ole Rudolph, could I come with you?"

Bruce did not hesitate. "Sure, as long as you wait so I can ask him if it's alright."

Tony nodded. "Okay."

()()()

Tony and Steve left, but Bruce stayed, telling them he would follow in a moment.

He was tempted to go to the computer and see what Loki had been doing after he told Bruce to leave. He didn't even want it to be filmed. Despite the progress they had made, Bruce felt suspicious. What if he had been communicating with some crazy Asgardian supervillain? Or the leader of the Chitauri? What if this _was_ all a trick?

His doubts fell away as quickly as they had arrived.

And he wouldn't look. That was wrong. Loki had trusted him enough to believe him when Bruce agreed, and said he would honor Loki's request. Bruce would not look.

It was probably nothing, anyway.

So Bruce left and didn't look back.

()()()

Loki could not sleep, because his head throbbed sickeningly, and he felt like he was about to throw up.

The euphoria of sweet silence had seeped away, leaving him hurting and pitiful in the bed. Blood had soaked through one side of the pillow, and he had staggered to his feet, found a cloth, and soaked up most of the blood from his wound before turning the pillow over and sinking back into the bed. He felt worse for trying to walk. And the wound continued to bleed. He could feel it, warm against his skin, stiff in his hair.

Loki stared vacantly out the window. The blue sky was hidden by clouds. A bird - he couldn't tell what kind - circled through it. He could imagine it screeching, a triumphant scream, and diving down to catch a mouse in its cold claws. But instead, it continued to circle aimlessly, always ending up where it had been before.

He shifted, and pain stabbed through his skull. He was swept beneath a wave of nausea, and covered his face with his hands. He felt _miserable._

_As you should._

Loki flinched, shrinking into the mattress as if it was possible to hide.

_So sorry to see me?_

_You do realize I am a part of yourself._

_You can't ever get away for long._

_Unless you die, of course._

Loki's eyes burned. Tears - contemptible, childish tears - gathered behind his eyelids like a vicious Chitauri army. He pressed a hand over his mouth to hold back any cries or sobs, because he would not cry. Would not cry.

_Oh, this ought to be interesting._

_Let's see how long he can hold out, shall we, before he is bawling like a little girl._

"Dammit," Loki whispered to the ceiling, because he didn't have the strength to properly speak. A haze clouded his vision, everything was blurry. "Dammit. I want to die."

He didn't mean it.

"I want to die."

Didn't mean it.

"I want to _die._"

_Oh, yes, you always believe me in the end. After all, you always listen, so it's only a matter of time._

_But no, that isn't right._

_I am your mind._

_I am your thoughts._

_You've wanted to die all along, haven't you?_

"Shut _up,_" he hissed, his voice soaked through with tears, pitiful tears. "Shut up, why can't I…"

_Told you. It didn't take long. He cries._

Loki ran his hand over his cheek. It came away wet. He stared at it, at the salty shine on his palm.

_Cries like a baby._

_A little Jotun runt of a baby._

_This is why they hated him, why he could never be a warrior. How weak, such babyish tears. Laughable, to think they would let a weakling like you into proper battle, that they would ever love you as much as they loved Thor._

_You never deserved love._

Loki closed his eyes, hating the burning, hating the tears that slipped from his eyes, down his face. They fell in a river down his neck and collected in his hair, mixing with the dried blood. He could feel it all, sticky on the back of his neck, and it disgusted him - he disgusted himself.

_Don't worry, you are not the only one who is disgusted by the miserable little Loki Laufeyson._

_Shall we go around and tell our reasons why?_

_Is it his skin?_

_His cowardice?_

_His weakness, his madness, his magic or his murder or his pathetic little tears?_

_No, there is nothing redeeming about him._

_Nothing good._

_Nothing salvageable from this sunken ship._

_Let it lie at the bottom of the sea._

_Let it lie._

Loki sobbed again, turning into his side, pulling his knees to his chest, covering his face with his hand and sobbing - horrible, wretched things that tore their way from his throat, slicing it to pieces.

His face must have appeared like the shattered mirror he had looked into before, for it was lined with the trails of so many red-hot tears, so many that he could not keep count. And each one fell to the Bifrost that was his mind, so if he made one misstep, he would slip and fall and plummet forever and ever over the edge.

_Isn't that what you want?_

"No… no, I want to live…"

Loki could not breathe. He was sobbing - empty, airless sobs. They grew in pitch, grew frantic, uncontrollable. He took shallow, desperate breaths, but they were not enough.

Perhaps he would die.

Suffocate on the salt from his own eyes.

_What a sight you would be, lying in a pool of your own blood, face red with tears._

_You used to call yourself a king, but no king would ever fall so low as this._

_You are king of nothing._

_Ha! And poor me, forced to live in such a worthless carcass as yours._

Loki shook.

But everything was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Loki?" came Banner's voice from the other side. "Can I come in?"

Loki shuddered against his sobs and buried his face in the blanket. He was shaking, shaking… he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop hearing, couldn't stop the voice. But even now, he wasn't brave enough to stop existing, to put an end to this wretchedness that was his life.

Banner hadn't noticed before, hadn't seen anything was wrong. But he would this time. He would see Loki for what he was - this broken, crying creature - and he would no longer knock before entering, or offer him water, or make him quesadillas, or ask if anything hurt. For who would spare a glance at this miserable, huddled mess? No one would want to look for more than an instant, for it would disgust them, would make them want to claw out their eyes...

"Loki?"

"_No, go away. Please go away," _Loki begged in his mind. Begged, yes, like the pathetic excuse for a god he was, so far beneath everything, never a king. Not a god, not even a Frost Giant, a ruin.

Nothing salvageable from this sunken ship.

_When a man agrees with his madness…._

_I would call that going over the edge._

_Falling._

"Loki?"

"No. Don't come in," Loki pleaded, but his voice was too soft and too burdened with tears to be heard.

_But not yet. You will not fall yet._

_You don't deserve that mercy._

He closed his eyes. Another wave of nausea overwhelmed him, but this time it mixed with his tears and was greater and more sickening than before. He could feel his insides churning, could feel a burn in his throat.

_They will call SHIELD and Thanos will find you. Do not be such a fool to think you have any time left to prevent this. He will have you within the hour._

_He will withhold from you the pain you crave. I will speak to you, haunt you, day and night. You are so broken that being spared torture is more tortuous than enduring it. And oh, yes, you will be spared._

_Spared even death, that sweet relief you will soon come to crave with every fiber of your being._

_I will haunt you forever._

_And it will be torture._

Loki leaned over the edge of the bed and retched, and retched on nothingness, for he had not eaten in four days. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and it caused a throbbing pain like he had been punched in the gut and he couldn't breathe. He changed his mind; oh, if only he could speak - he would yell and scream at the door, anything to get Banner to come in.

But the door flew open anyway, and Banner quickly knelt at his side while Loki retched again, and choked on the sickening pain in his stomach when nothing came up.

"Dry heaves," Banner said, as if Loki didn't know. He sat on the bed beside him and, after a brief hesitation, put an arm around his shoulders, while Loki retched uselessly again and again. The pain stabbed through his body, making him feel faint.

But he turned his face away, lest Banner see the tear tracks that criss-crossed his face.

Banner inhaled sharply, but Loki couldn't comprehend why.

Then, finally, the retching ceased, and Loki could breathe again.

"Water," Banner held the bottle out to him. "Drink small sips." He did not remove his arm.

Loki took the bottle and quickly turned his face away again as he drank. It felt like heaven, washing away the taste of bile that coated his throat. It was cool, like ice compared to the fire of his tears.

"Tony! You were supposed to wait!" Banner cried, sounding angry.

Loki snapped his head up. There was Stark, leaning in the doorway, staring at him. Rogers followed soon after, standing sentry in the corner. "What happened?" Stark asked, looking at Bruce's arm, which was still around Loki's shoulders.

"Dry heaves," Bruce said, nodding at Loki.

Shame oozed from Loki's pores, prickled at his eyelids, shone clear as day in his eyes. He jerked his head so pieces of hair escaped from behind his ear and fell over his face. He reached for his magic, hoping beyond hope for something, anything to make a glamour. He wanted so desperately to hide, to disappear.

But nothing was there.

He was empty.

"Do you want him to leave?" Bruce asked him.

Loki did. He never wanted to see Stark again, to see the way Stark's eyes fell upon him like he was a piece of metal instead of a sentient being, a machine that he wanted to fix. But instead, he shook his head, and he did not know why, did not know why he was always denying himself the things he wanted so badly.

"Okay," Banner let out a deep breath, like he was bracing himself. "What happened to your head?"

Loki tensed. Suddenly, Banner's arm around his shoulders was suffocating in its closeness. He ducked away, leaving Banner reaching out at empty air. Slowly, he lowered his arm back to his side.

"Nothing," Loki whispered, because he couldn't think of a lie.

"I'll do you one better," Stark said from the doorway. "What happened to you? You haven't told us, not really. You should."

Loki closed his eyes briefly, shutting out everything for a moment. "It does not matter. SHIELD will be here shortly. None of this matters."

When he opened his eyes, Bruce was gaping at him. "Oh, shit, I'm so sorry! I forgot to mention that SHIELD might not be coming."

At first, Loki's heart soared, but he forced it back down. He would not tolerate false hope, it would break him faster. He didn't think he could endure that. "Might not," he said. "You don't know. You don't know anything."

"They won't come unless I want them to," Stark announced, a strange look on his face, one Loki hadn't seen before. "I don't think I want them to, but I really, really need to know what the hell is going on before I make any long-term decisions. So, Belle, what's going on?"

Loki, confused, glanced at Bruce.

"He means Aurora. Sleeping Beauty," Bruce said, apologetically. When Loki must have still appeared confused, he continued, rambling. "Disney princess who pricks her finger on this spinning wheel, because of this evil fairy who curses her, and you know what? Never mind."

Loki liked the name Sleeping Beauty. He wanted to sleep. And he wanted a glamour.

Then they both stopped speaking and all three watched him, eagerly like he was some freak show, waiting for an explanation, waiting for his brokenness to hang on display so they could _laugh_ at it.

No, no, no, he could do this. He would not die.

Did he want to die?

Should he give up?

No.

_Yes._

No. No. He did not want to fall back into the Void… disappearing into the shadows, becoming nothing at all…

Loki could taste the lie on his tongue, bitter. He was a liar. That was all he was, all he would ever be. Unlike… _Thor,_ and his friends, who wore their truth proudly, unashamed. Loki had always been too small, too weak, to bear that burden, so he shoved it behind a glamour, behind shuttered eyes. And they never realized, not until it was too late, and Loki was already broken.

_Go on. Tell them, so you can live, so you can kill them._

_Snuffing out three lives, three good lives, and replacing them with your own, worthless, worthless one._

_All for Thanos. For your king._

_For him._

_Tell them, tell them. Do it._

_I dare you._

Loki focused on the window at the sky, which was gray with clouds. He wanted to see the sky. He didn't know why.

He glanced at his wrists, at the bracelets that stifled him. At the blanket over his legs, not needed because his legs were carefully covered by black pants, but he liked having multiple layers to cover the raw, red holes left from the needle, and the ugly criss crossed lines from the glass, like the tear tracks on his cheeks. He had cut his arms, slicing himself to pieces like he was a slab of red meat. The lines were hidden beneath his sleeves.

It hadn't been enough.

It would never be enough.

_Exactly. What is the point? I will always come back. You are ruined beyond repair. Most people, sane people, would throw away something as broken as you._

_Let this end._

"Loki?" Banner asked, gently. He cautiously touched Loki's forearm, and Loki struggled not to wince. "You should eat something. Just a little. I don't think you should eat the quesadilla, but what about soup? Or more water?"

"I am not hungry." Loki lied.

"Does anything hurt?"

"No. Nothing."

_Tell them._

_Get it over with._

_I am on the edge of my seat. Do it._

_I dare you, dare you._

Loki thought of Thor, thought of the time Thor and he had sat in the branch of a dizzyingly tall tree in the garden because they were immortal and they could.

"_Climb, Loki. Climb to the top," _said a young Thor, a merely two-hundred year old Thor, with a big pink grin on his face. "_I dare you."_

Loki did not hesitate, because he never backed down from a dare. Back then, he had tried so hard to prove to Thor that he was as big and strong as brave as he was. So Loki climbed and climbed and didn't stop.

And he fell, as children do, fell down and down. But it wasn't far before he hit the ground and something snapped and he screamed…

Only one of many broken bones.

_I dare you,_ his voice taunted. _Tell them. I dare you._

Loki would. But not like this. He couldn't let it be like this.

He straightened his back, raised his chin. Then he braced his shaking hands against the bed and used his bloodied, torn arms to lift himself up. Rogers stepped forward, and Banner inhaled sharply - "Loki! You shouldn't…" - but, when they saw Loki had no intention of sitting back down, Rogers put an awkward, heavy hand on his shoulder to steady him.

Loki pushed his hand away.

He hoped his eyes burned with fire instead of tears. He hoped his clenched fists would be taken for righteous anger instead of fear. He hoped they wouldn't see the tear tracks on his face, that their eyes would move right past.

"It was the Mad Titan, Thanos," he finally, finally lied. "The one who ordered me to lead the Chitauri army in the attack on your city."

Rogers hand rested just above his shoulder, before moving away, back to his side.

Stark's emotions were tangled, indecipherable, but his knuckles were white in clenched fists.

Banner's eyes were soft, pitying.

Loki hurt all over, within and without, his skin and his bones and his blood.

_Now it comes full circle._

_You always knew it would come to this._

_You've saved yourself._

_But never felt more lost._

_Kill them, kill them, kill them. Make Stark retch on the taste of his own blood. Break Rogers' bones and bury them. Stab Banner with needles, hurl him at the walls of an alleyway, cut him with glass, leaving trails of blood in his ivory skin, in his black hair. Torture them._

_It is what you do best, little runt of a Frost Giant, little liar._

_It is what you do best._

()()()

_Star: I love stories where he was mind controlled/tortured as well, but I wanted to try something new, because I haven't seen many where he did act of his own free will. And it's much more fun to torture a character in their own head with guilt, then just physical torment (although that's fun too). And thanks for the compliments, you're too kind :)_

_Guest: Ah, okay. Thanks for the interesting tidbit of information, I completely wasn't aware of that! But no matter, because that's what AUs are for! Glad you're enjoying the story, it makes my day to get such kind feedback. :)_

If you left a review, that would honestly make my day so please do!


	9. Chapter 9

_I passed 100k words!_

_And I just wrote the climax of the story and I kinda love it :) I know it's my own work and that doesn't mean anything but I felt so many feelings while writing it lol._

_If anyone cares, I would not have gotten through that section without the song Darlin' by Goodbye June. I _looooove _it._

_Oh, and this will probably have a sequel! I say probably, but there's really like a 99% chance lol so I'm pretty sure it's gonna happen. I've got so many ideas oh my godddd._

_And, of course, thanks to tincturedwords and DocWordsmith for beta readingggg! _

_I'm not sure if this one is chicken nugget safe, as I don't remember what happens in it, lol. But I think it should be okay. None of these are going to be very happy, though, but it shouldn't be toooo bad._

_Enjoy the chapter!_

()()()

Bruce's fists clenched as Loki continued to speak. Bruce wanted him to stop - this was hurting him - but he knew it had to happen.

"He found me when I fell," Loki's voice was clear, not a word out of place, not a trace of uncertainty, only a radiating confidence that couldn't be real. "When I fell from the Bifrost, to his army of Chitauri."

"Bifrost?" Tony asked.

"The bridge between the worlds. I fell from it."

"Why?"

Loki's eyes darkened. "Because I got too close to the edge. Why else?"

Loki's hands were shaking, but he did not seem to notice. He raised his chin again, as if he were once again addressing the crowd of civilians, ordering them to kneel.

But he wasn't. He was in a hospital room, standing above the bed he had been lying in. Standing in front of two people who were supposed to be his enemies, with shaking hands and feet and blood flowing from the back of his head…

Bruce ran to the table, rooted through a drawer for thread. The wound would need to be closed again. How had he forgotten?

"No, it is not so bad," Loki said to him. Bruce looked up. "Let me finish. I am a god, I will live."

Reluctantly, Bruce set aside the thread.

"Thanos was power. He sought - seeks - the infinity gauntlet, but even without it, he is fierce. There are stories…. that he has leveled mountains, burned cities, that the nine realms quaked before him. But when I fell, he told me he wanted _me _to head his army, that he had never wanted anyone but me." Loki shook his head. "But that does not matter. It was never a request, you see. I should not have been so easily fooled. But I refused, at first, laughing and saying I would rather have my own revenge…"

Loki rubbed his forearm, unconsciously. "He let his Chitauri fall upon me… beat me into the ground. Again and again.

"And… he told me of the horrors he would inflict upon me if I denied his request, and eventually I could no longer deny him what he wanted.

"But once I failed, once you took back the city, he was angry. They say the Mad Titan is always angry, that he will not hesitate to lash out in fits of rage, but that is not true. He thinks. He does not feel, does not act on an impulse. And when I returned empty-handed, Thanos did not act out of rage. He knew precisely what he wanted to do.

"He picked me up in one huge hand." Loki's face showed no emotion but an unsettling confidence. "And he threw me against the rocks. Again and again and again."

Bruce couldn't look away from the redness beneath his puffy eyes, the wet streaks on his face. Loki had been crying - Bruce had realized that as soon as he entered the room. It must have been for something truly awful, for he wasn't crying now, and how could anything be worse?

Bruce glanced at Tony, who was already looking at him. Something unspoken, something that _couldn't _be spoken, passed between their eyes. Tony's fists were clenched, too.

"He imprisoned me in a glass cell, so his army could stare at me like I was some creature in a zoo. They taunted me day and night." Loki's confidence must have wavered, for he tugged at his sleeve, pulling it over his hands, perhaps not realizing he was doing it. Even though his head was held high, he seemed to shrink. "Sometimes he let them break the glass and use it to cut me."

Tony inhaled sharply, but Bruce was too frozen to make a sound.

But Loki was still speaking. "Today was the worst. I said something I shouldn't - I was arrogant, foolish. He slammed the back of my head against the wall. He broke my arm. He did this." Loki raised his arms, as if to expose the wounds they all knew were hidden beneath his shirt. "But I was fine. Am fine. I… my magic protected me from the worst of it. It was nothing, truly," Loki stumbled over his words. "What he did was nothing. I am a god. It isn't as if he could truly hurt me." He laughed vaguely, eyes fixed on a point beyond them of them. "You needn't waste your concern on something so trivial."

Bruce could tell he was humiliated, or ashamed, or something, which made sense, considering how determinedly he'd tried to avoid answering the question. But Bruce couldn't help feeling pity for him, couldn't help saying, "I'm so sorry," and reaching out to touch his arm, as reassurance of some kind.

Instead of being reassured, Loki hissed as if in pain and jerked away. "Don't _touch _me," he said, voice full of venom, before the anger slipped away, with his false confidence, and was replaced by an artificial blankness in his eyes. Carefully neutral. Pretending.

"Sorry. Sorry. I won't touch you," Bruce said, feeling another pang of sympathy. This was so fucked up.

"Why did you end up here?" Tony asked, bluntly. His arms were folded and he leaned casually against the wall, but his eyes were bright, bright with more emotion than he'd shown in days. "I mean… did you escape? Did he… put you here for some reason?"

"I ran when his back was turned. He was distracted, and I used my magic to transport myself here, but it sapped me dry and I was unable to heal myself. I came here because I had no hope in Asgard, no hope of finding asylum. Thor and the rest will never allow me to stay anywhere but a prison cell, and they are too dim-witted to try to understand." His voice was soaked through with bitterness, but it quickly dried up again. "I had only this, this one distant hope, that you would keep me safe. But if you take me to SHIELD, Thanos will have no qualms about killing them all and taking me back. It is you he fears. He has seen your power, and knows he cannot defeat you without the infinity gauntlet, while his Chitauri army has been so sorely depleted."

"He knows where you are?" Tony asked.

"I do not doubt it. He seems to always know."

Bruce wanted to touch Loki's shoulder, or his hand, but he knew Loki wouldn't let him. When had Bruce become so touchy? He wasn't normally like this. He knew there was a reason, but he couldn't pin it down, and it wouldn't sit still long enough for him to make out what it was.

Loki practically fell back onto the bed, or perhaps his knees had given out. Instantly, Bruce grabbed the needle and thread and was sitting down beside him. "We need to stitch this up. Tony? Get some ice."

()()()

Thor stood beside Frigga, slightly behind Odin's throne. Outside, thunder raged, with no signs of stopping.

The throne room was full of Aesir - Aesir of all kinds. Dark, light, thin, fat, male, female. There were warriors and maidens, there were children and those nearing the end of their long, long lives. And outside the throne room, and all through the palace, the corridors and the halls and the vast, sprawling gardens, Aesir had gathered. Their voices rose and fell like thunder. They shouted and whispered, they raised their fists and chanted.

Thor did not recognize anyone in the crowd.

The All-father let this continue on for a few more minutes, then he raised his arms high in the air. Slowly, the talking quieted, accompanied by a chorus of loud shushing.

"Silence!" the All-father bellowed, although it was unnecessary necessary. "I, Odin All-father, king of Asgard, have summoned you all here for a purpose. I will put an end to the rumors that run rampant throughout Asgard. What I will say, you will pass on, accurately, without missing a word, so every man, woman, and child will know the truth."

The crowd hung on his every word. Thor glanced at Frigga, but her eyes were focused straight ahead, and she did not acknowledge him.

"Loki, the traitor, has indeed escaped. He is gone."

The room exploded with noise, but Odin raised his arms higher and shouted for silence again. Once the noise died down, he continued. "But fear not! Where Thanos is, he will be also. We will find them both and we will bring them to justice, along with the Chitauri. No harm shall come to Asgard as long as blood flows through my veins."

An empty promise, but the crowd cheered regardless.

Thor forced the voices to muddle together in his mind, so he would not hear the individual shouts, the cries for death to his brother, the jeers and taunts.

Loki deserved it, of course, but it hurt to hear.

()()()

Tony didn't want to think about Afghanistan, but Loki's words took him back there.

They grabbed his hair in their fists and forced his head beneath the water, the water that made his heart beat out of his chest, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe until his lungs hurt and he felt sick. The panic set in, the panic he remembered so clearly - a mind-numbing panic - because he couldn't breathe and Tony really, really liked breathing.

And when they brought his head back up, when he was gasping frantically for air, they laughed and forced him back down again.

Tony closed his eyes, because when they were open, all he saw was the bucket of water, all he saw was its darkness, and the death that lay at the bottom.

"Tony? Ice?"

He opened his eyes. Bruce was sitting beside Loki, looking at him, saying something…

"Ice," Bruce snapped his fingers. "Quick. He's bleeding."

Then he turned back to Loki, who was staring at his hands, or the floor, and looked completely spent. Talking for so long, telling so much, must have exhausted him. Tony could relate to that.

He pushed away his memories, and ran to the fridge - of _course_ he had put a fridge in the hospital - and took out a tray of ice. Steve was standing awkwardly in the corner, so Tony said, "Can you get me a towel?" Steve nodded and began to open each drawer, looking for it. Tony rolled his eyes at no one. "It's in the bottom left one."

Once the ice and the towel had been obtained, Tony handed both to Bruce, who wrapped the ice in the towel and held it to the back of Loki's head. "Water."

"No problem."

Tony gave Bruce a bottle of water and another towel, and Bruce used the towel to clean the dried blood from Loki's hair.

Loki gave no sign that he noticed, or cared.

He looked numb. Hell, he looked like he needed a _drink._

It was funny to imagine - the god of mischief chugging down a beer - but not funny enough to make Tony smile. Because the alcoholic Loki in his mind quickly morphed into the one who had lain like a corpse outside the tower, arms splayed wildly, soaked through with blood. It was worse, now that he knew what had done that to him. He didn't know who "Thanos" was, but putting a name to Loki's injuries, to his panic attacks, to his demons, made it ten times worse. And hearing what had happened, hearing him say it in such a confident, matter-of-fact voice, like he was reading from a textbook, made it twenty.

Tony didn't think he had ever seen someone who so clearly needed help before in his life. Which was why he stood by awkwardly and let Bruce do the helping. Tony was not good at helping. He ended up relating to whoever he was helping, and ended up drowning in that bucket of water again.

Everything reminded him of something he wanted desperately to forget.

And it wasn't only Afghanistan. Despite their having won, the attack on New York had been terrible to witness. He had seen people die, and he hadn't been able to get to them in time to save them. It was like Afghanistan - and Yinsen - all over again, but worse. So much worse.

He had found himself in the midst of a great war between vicious, reptilian aliens from outer space and his city. He had fought until he could no longer fight, until his metal hands were covered with blood, until his mind pushed the memories away into the shadowed corners of a locked room in Afghanistan, and yet, everyone expected him to be okay.

They wondered why he didn't joke and laugh as he used to, why he didn't emerge from his room for hours on end, why he didn't put aside the alcohol and face real life, and he wondered why they _could_.

_This_ was why he hadn't wanted to come out of his room. This. Staring at the ceiling was so much easier. White paint didn't bring up horrible memories. White paint didn't morph into black water. White paint was safe.

"If you two are gonna just stand there, you might as well leave," Bruce said, as he dabbed at Loki's head with a wet washcloth.

Oh, yeah. Steve was here too, wasn't he? He hadn't done much either. Maybe he felt the same as Tony. Maybe they were both being selfish, or maybe they both didn't know what to do, how to help, like Bruce did.

They both nodded and left the hospital room.

Thank god. He could breathe so much easier once he had left that place. It had been stifling.

Tony met Steve's eyes, and offered him a small nod, which Steve returned. No need for talking. They each knew where the other was headed - Tony to his lab, and Steve back to the kitchen, to polish his shield - he did that a lot. No need for talking, when nothing they could say could add anything meaningful to what they had witnessed.

They walked past each other, and Steve's footsteps, perfectly even, faded away. Tony walked to the elevator, thought about it, then took the stairs.

()()()

There was something Bucky used to say.

Something that would have helped.

But Steve couldn't remember.

He sat at the kitchen table, polishing his shield, and tried _so hard_ to pull his words up from the dregs of his memory. Bucky. _Bucky._ Steve could picture him in his mind, although he didn't want to. Could see him saying it. Could hear the tone of his voice - sarcastic, cynical. But hilarious, always finding a way to make Steve laugh.

He needed to remember. Please, please, let him remember. He didn't want to be left alone to find his way through this maze, because that was impossible; he didn't know where to turn.

It was all so confusing, but Tony and Bruce both seemed to know exactly what they wanted to do, leaving Steve to flail about for a next step. No general was here to scream orders at him. No Peggy to give him words of comfort. No Bucky to be there, to _be Bucky._

This wasn't a war. It was quieter and deeper and shadowed.

This wasn't war, but it was like it in an unsettling way. Fewer bombs and gunshots, sure, but a disturbingly similar amount of blood.

Steve was good at war. But this was not war.

Steve didn't know what to do. There was nothing he _could_ do.

He was oversized for this. He was bulky, cumbersome, with his artificial muscles and artificial hands, and all he knew how to do was run and kick and punch and throw and fight. He was oversized for this - for delicate things, for things that truly mattered. For speaking softly, for holding tightly, for comforting with kind words while cleaning dried blood from dark hair. Steve was a super soldier - a supersized soldier, and like a kid having a growth spurt, he tripped over his own feet and accidentally broke small things with his hands. He didn't know how to tread lightly, how to heal without hurting.

Sure, he had pulled Loki's body up from the ground, and dropped him down into a white bed, letting red flow outwards like a blooming flower. But after that, what was a super soldier supposed to do to heal another person, when the only reason for a super soldier to exist was

that they were better at killing?

So he would leave Bruce to help Loki, although he felt guilty. He would leave Bruce to sort through it all, while he stayed in the kitchen and polished his shield.

But instead of wondering what Bucky had said seventy years ago, he wondered what Bucky would say if he were here, smiling at Steve and flipping his hair out of his eyes.

()()()

Bruce wanted to ask what had happened to Loki's head, but he didn't. Loki had already answered enough questions.

He wanted to ask more about Thanos, to find out who he was, what he was planning, why he had wanted to attack New York, and what was an infinity gauntlet, anyway? But he didn't ask, because Loki was already shaken enough and Bruce didn't want to shake him further.

Bruce wasn't a psychiatrist, or a therapist, he wasn't that kind of doctor, but he knew an experience like what Loki had been through could make anyone fragile. It was common sense. How _could _you come out of that, sauntering along like nothing had happened?

He also knew asking would make Loki worse. He needed time. The greatest healer of them all - or so they said.

So he maintained a silence he hoped was comforting, or at least bearable, and wiped away the blood from Loki's head. It had not dried completely. It was recent. Bruce tried not to think about what that meant.

Once it was gone, Bruce threw the washcloth away, and handed Loki the ice, wrapped in a towel. "Hold this against your head." Loki made no sign that he had heard, aside from taking the ice and pressing it against the wound. His eyes stared vacantly into the distance like beads - emotionless.

Bruce rooted around in the fridge and the drawers for a can of soup. Nothing. Just Kool Aid and goldfish crackers. Did Tony know what a hospital was for?

"What's your opinion on melted ice cream?" Bruce asked - that question should be all right - holding up the bowl of ice cream he had prepared for Loki. It was untouched, as was the rest of the food.

Loki had said he wasn't hungry, but that couldn't be true. After all, when he had retched, nothing had come up.

But Loki did not reply.

"You have to eat something," Bruce said, as he rummaged around in a tall cupboard, standing on his tiptoes. The cupboard was full of pills, but strangely, in the back, there was a box of graham crackers. _What the fuck, Tony? _"Even if you did eat this morning, which I doubt, you must be hungry. I won't poison you, I promise." He laughed forcibly, awkwardly.

When there was no reply, he said, "I'm gonna have to stitch up your head wound. Does it feel numb yet?"

Loki nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Bruce smiled and sat beside him. "Okay." He examined the wound closer. "It doesn't look deep, just bloody. I doubt you're concussed, but I'll check anyway. Honestly, I should have checked earlier."

No reply again, so he continued to speak, as he put aside Loki's dark hair and threaded the needle.

"Oh, and if you're worried about SHIELD, don't be. Tony has a way with words when it comes to Fury. Well, more like he's good at pretending he's incompetent. If he says he dreamed you were here, Fury would believe him." Bruce paused. "I wouldn't be surprised if he did use that as his excuse, knowing him.

"He might not want me to tell you this, but he's been in his room for a long time, or in his lab, or sitting in the kitchen doing nothing. Ever since… you know. But today he seemed better. Not really. But kind of.

"He was so nice to let the both of us stay, but sometimes I think the only reason he did it was because he was too out of it to give a crap. I'm not complaining, though. I get to live in Stark tower, after all.

"It's great here. There's a full pantry behind the kitchen full of food, except it's mostly crackers and moldy subs and alcohol, but still. And once you graduate from this room, you could sleep in a guest room. You'll like it. The beds are so soft, and you get your own Jacuzzi."

Bruce continued to talk, softly, about soup and ice cream, haircuts and robots - anything and everything that didn't matter.

As he spoke, he stitched up the wound, slowly and methodically. Loki didn't react when he first pushed the needle through his skin, or the second time, or at all.

Bruce wished he would. Selfishly, he would rather hear Loki hiss in pain than hear this heavy silence, because with the silence Bruce was likely to get lost in his thoughts, which would take him back to what Loki had told them, and make him shudder or Hulk out or break down and cry; he didn't know which.

Instead of thinking, he continued to talk, and he didn't stop for a long time.

()()()

"_Hush, darling. No need to cry."_

_But Loki continued to sob, as Frigga rubbed soothing circles on his back. She pulled him closer, whispering, "Shhh, shhh. I know it hurts. I know. But you will be okay, everything will be fine."_

_His leg was broken, and it stuck out at an odd angle, like a broken tree branch. But Frigga pushed his face away from it so he wouldn't look, so all he saw was her, and her glistening, smiling eyes. She framed his face with her hand, pushing aside a strand of hair, wiping away a tear._

_Loki shook uncontrollably, holding back another sob. His lip quivered, his pouting, little-kid lip. He was a child, and this was the worst pain he had ever experienced._

_Behind them, Thor stood with his hands clasped tightly, and redness in his eyes. "I am _so _sorry," he said. Loki knew he was telling the truth. He was too young to know how to lie, and even when he got older, he never truly learned._

_Loki turned to try to face him, and in doing so, shifted his leg accidentally. Pain shot through his body, making him gasp, making him cry and bury his face in Frigga's shoulder._

"_Shhh, shhh," she said, stroking his hair. "Don't cry. You'll feel better soon. Odin will come, and he will only have to wave his scepter through the air before you are healed. He is strong enough to do that._

"_Did I ever tell you about the time he felled a thousand beasts in battle? He rode valiantly on his horse, armor shining, and you could see they were afraid, see them begin to fall back before he had struck the first blow._

"_But your father is good, so he did not kill those ones; he let them go._

"_It was the others, the ones who had done horrible things… you don't want to know what they did. But they frothed at the mouth, dripping venom from their awful teeth. Their skin the color of the darkest night, covered in coarse hair. And their eyes… their eyes were yellow, Loki. Have you ever seen such eyes?"_

_Loki shook his head, trembling._

_Frigga pulled him closer. "They burned with hatred, and anger. Your father rode out on his great stallion and struck them down, a thousand of them down, with fire, with magic crackling from his scepter. He was already king, but that was the day Asgard learned to respect him, to fear him, to love him."_

_She continued to talk - to talk about Odin, to talk about the time he had brought her a beautiful mare as a birthday gift, and the time he had let her wield Gungnir and she had accidentally destroyed a pillar of the palace, bringing a piece of the roof crashing down. She talked about how, after he had lost his eye, he had spent days deciding which eye patch to wear, and had constantly brought her different options for her to consider. Bright silver, darkest black, even one with a dragon carved into it. He had amassed a mountain of rejected patches, and they were all in a chest in a tower somewhere in the palace, if Loki wanted to see._

_As she spoke, Loki forgot about his pain and lost himself in her words. All he saw was grand battles and beautiful horses, instead of himself, with a broken leg, crying into his mother's hair._

()()()

Banner's idle chatter took Loki back there, if only for a few precious moments.

His voice had the same lulling effect as Frigga's that made him nearly fall asleep, and god did he want to _fall asleep._ And listening to Banner drove away the voice. The voice. The taunts and the lies that weren't lies… replaced with blessed relief. It was like magic. (It was like insanity.)

But beneath it all, a heavy numbness. Loki knew if he tried to think, tried to feel, it would all come into horrible focus, and the voice would return, and he would not, _could not_, let that happen. He would fall. He would fall and fall and fall...

He remained still, he did not speak, and he let Banner's voice carry him away. He did not listen to the words, he listened to them rise and fall like the tide, to the little hops and jumps Banner made when he missed a word or lost his train of thought, to the point where he grew happy or sad and his words flowed with emotion like a river. He let the river pick him up and carry him away.

And it was _sweet_ and _calm_ and _peaceful._

If only for a few precious moments.

()()()

_Star: afdjghdkjfh THANK YOU! I'm so happy that I'm making you feeeeel things haha. Hopefully this chapter cleared up one of your questions. And as for Natasha and Clint, you'll just have to wait and see ;)_

Thanks to everyone who left a review! I'm like living off of food, water, and reviews at this point. Don't know what I would do without them :)

Oh, and thanks for favoriting/following as well, if you did that! Or for just reading this - it makes me so happy!


	10. Chapter 10

**_Thanks to DocWordsmith for beta reading!_**

_I'm going on a camping trip thing and I won't have my laptop or phone, so I sadly won't be able to respond to many reviews, and I won't be able to post the next chapter until Saturday._

_I'm also probably/definitely going to go into writing withdrawal, so wish me luck… I haven't taken such a long break from writing in a LONG time. However, I can always brainstorm, or imagine dialogue in my head, so I shouldddd be all right. Hopefully._

_Also, I may or may not have accidentally started another story… And I might have already written 7000 words for it but I'm NOT going to lose my focus on this story. At the moment, that's just a side project. It's a story where Loki'll actually be tortured by Thanos, and yeah it's pretty dark, because… I'm weird. Anyway. If you have any requests/suggestions, I would love to hear them! (And that might be _hard,_ because I didn't give much information so far… I'll tell y'all more once I've written more of it.)_

_Also, I'm literally bleeding out of my pinkie finger all over the shift key. So I hope you appreciate this capitalization, because now the key is red. (I have a bad habit of biting all the skin off my fingers. And no, you didn't need to know that, but now you do. You're welcome.)_

_Anyway. *laughs awkwardly* Hope you like the chapter! I'm gonna go get a bandaid._

()()()

"Mother? May I speak with you?"

The crowd had gone, and so had Odin. But Frigga remained, eyes set on the window outside, where Thor's storm had quieted to a pattering rain, falling in streams down the windows.

Thor was beside her. He was so large in comparison, with his great hammer and his long hair, nearly twice her size. It was no wonder he couldn't tell what she was thinking, couldn't hazard a guess, despite having known her his entire life. It seemed like the big ones were unable to understand such things. Like how he and the Warriors Three didn't even attempt to understand Sif.

But Loki had always had an uncanny knowledge of such things, of thoughts and feelings. He had used that knowledge for darkness, and Thor should not envy it, but he found himself doing so, regardless.

Frigga pulled her eyes away from the window and turned to him, hands clasped delicately, ever the picture of elegance, even as worn as she was. "Of course you may," her voice was warm. "Thor, my son," she smiled. "You may speak to me about anything."

She looked so tired. Thor almost told her to forget his question, to leave at once and rest. But he didn't, because he had to know.

"Why would Loki do this? I never would have dreamed… I thought I knew him, but now he is crueler than I ever imagined." Thor's voice was weighed down by stale anger, the kind that has burned so long that it is no longer hot, but like a slowly dying ember.

Frigga's eyes seemed to focus on him for the first time. "I do not think any of us could have imagined this."

Thor struggled for words like a blind man feeling his way through the darkness. "But… mother, this does not simply happen. Something must have made him this way. Not an excuse - there is no excuse - but a cause, an origin. I need to understand."

Normally when Thor was angry, Frigga would place a hand on his shoulder, or even embrace him, as a means of comfort, and his anger would seep away into sadness, which was more manageable. But she did not. She regarded him with sad eyes, knowing eyes, and said, "He is a Frost Giant, and we did not tell him."

As if that explained anything.

"But that is not enough to make one attack a city! If that had happened to me, I would not have acted as he did. I would have been secure in the fact that you loved me, and that my origins do not matter as long as that is true! Loki knows you love him, so why would this matter so much to him? After all, it is only a matter of skin, and he wears a glamour over it anyway, so it is not as if anyone can see…"

Thor could not stand the way her eyes grew full to the brim with sadness, and so much knowing, because she knew so much he did not.

"Thor," she said, casting her eyes once more to the window. She took a deep breath. "You always see the world in straight lines. Lines that do not waver. Lines of love, lines of sorrow, lines of war - and they are separate, distinct and sharp and clear." She looked at him again, blinking more often than was normal. "And that is _good_ for you, Thor. Everything must be so simple that way."

Thor was confused. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, what she was trying to say, but she raised a hand to stop him.

"But your brother…" she heaved another shaking breath. "In his mind, everything is tangled up, like a knot. He is so different from you, Thor, and sometimes that is good, but sometimes it means you cannot understand him. Despite the fact that we have tried to show Loki nothing but love throughout his life - although, looking back, I can see that we may not have been such good parents, after all - I can imagine such a revelation as the one he experienced - to know your mother and father lied to you for thousands of years, to discover you are a part of a race we have fought against, many times, and even hated - would tangle that web further. The line of love could get knotted together with the line of hate, the lines of anger and sadness…. the line of war. Perhaps the line of love got lost somewhere in the middle, and he can no longer find it.

"And Thor… I suspect your brother has gone so far, he thinks the knot in his mind can never come untied. He thinks he will never go back to straight lines.

"Do you understand?" She searched his eyes with her own, but Thor could only stare blankly back at her, unsure what she wanted to see.

He loosened his grip on Mjolnir, a grip he hadn't realized he was holding, a grip that had left his knuckles white.

"I will try," Thor said.

She smiled sadly, and Thor expected that she would embrace him, but she did not.

"If you would like," she said. "There are books on the Jotnar in the library. I think it could help you to understand better if you read them." Her voice was strangely bitter. "I could write a few titles down for you,".

Thor nodded. "Of course, mother. But first, you should rest."

She shook her head, and turned back to the window. "How can I, when one of my sons is gone, and the others is so angry that he makes the clouds unleash torrents of rain? No, I will stay here."

She pulled a pen and paper out of her pocket, and wrote against the armrest of Odin's throne. "I will stay, and you will go to the library. Do not worry about me, I will be fine right here." She pressed the paper into his hand. "I will rest when the rain has stopped."

Thor hesitated.

"_Go." _she said.

Thor nodded, gripping the pen and paper tightly, holding his hammer tightly in his other hand. He descended the stairs and walked through the great throne room, past the many rows where so many Aesir had stood, shouting, mere minutes before. Their insults, their taunts, echoed in his mind, even though he had tried so hard to block them out.

_Filthy Frost Giant._

_No surprise he was a traitor._

_Never trust the blue skinned devils._

_Never a Jotun for a prince._

And a burning curiosity settled in Thor's stomach as he headed to the library to find out what the Frost Giants really were.

What his brother was.

()()()

At some point while Bruce was talking - he didn't remember what about - Loki fell asleep.

He sagged against Bruce in a way he never would have while awake; his head fell against Bruce's shoulder, and his body slumped over Bruce's side.

Bruce smiled, pushing Loki away and lowering him gently onto the bed. But when his head lolled to the side, exposing the lines of his throat, like it had earlier that day in the lobby, Bruce frowned and looked away.

It was late, and he was tired. As if his body was trying to prove that, he yawned.

"Jarvis? If he wakes up, let me know."

**Of course, Dr. Banner. Shall I alert Tony Stark and Steve Rogers as well?**

Bruce hesitated. "Ah… no, I don't think so. Just me. I'll be in the smallest guest room, thirty-seventh floor."

**I am always well aware of your position, Dr. Banner.**

"Oh, sorry. Yeah. Okay."

Bruce stood carefully so as not to wake Loki. Then he dumped out the bottle of water, refilled it, and set the new one on the table. He took a bite of the quesadilla and a slurp of ice cream before throwing the food away and setting the box of graham crackers beside the water. It would do for now.

Bruce pulled the blanket up from the end of the bed and over Loki's shoulders, something he had done with patients many times before. But never before had the sight of how painfully _thin _they were made Bruce clap his hand over his mouth and turn his eyes to the floor, blinking rapidly, with something like a wave rising up in his chest.

In his mind's eye, he could see it - some huge, dark figure, picking Loki up in an enormous hand, picking him up by those small shoulders, cracking them as he did, so Loki snapped like a twig. And he drove his fist forward, drove Loki into the wall, again and again, and Loki screamed….

Bruce covered his face with his hands.

_Breathe, breathe, breathe. Come on, you know the drill. Breathe._

Bruce breathed.

And once he did, he fled the room, closing the door quickly behind him, without looking back.

()()()

"Fury? Hey. Yeah. So… I was super drunk. Like, in a stupor. Kinda embarrassing, I know. So I wouldn't take any of those messages I sent you seriously. Or the other voicemails. Or the one time I called and you actually answered, for that matter. But you can take this one seriously, I guess. Yep. So that's my great new contribution to your life. Have fun with that.

"I hope I didn't freak you out. For clarification, there is no Loki here, he's safely locked up in Asgard. Also, I don't have PTSD, I'm just drunk. Was drunk. Honestly.

"Tony out."

()()()

Steve fell asleep on the table, head cradled in his arms, arms folded on his shining shield.

He dreamed of Bucky.

"_You snore like an elephant."_

"_Mmm. Turn the damn light off or I'll impale you."_

"_With fucking what?"_

"_My tusks. Idiot."_

_Bucky laughed, turned off the light, and promptly collapsed onto the couch. Steve, who was lying on the ground for some reason (they had been drunk last night, give them a break) put a pillow over his face, and went back to snoring. _

()()()

Thor stayed up past midnight, reading, which was not something he had ever done before.

Loki had, many times. When they were young, Thor would peer into his room to see him buried beneath a blanket, with a magic light burning, so bright that Thor could see his silhouette, see his hand move every so often as he turned a page.

When he got older, he had many favorite places - the window ledge in his room, the roof beyond it, the little alcove behind a stairwell, the forgotten nooks and crannies of the palace. And still older, he ventured out, reading on a bench in the garden, or beyond the palace walls, donning a glamour and pouring over a book in a park in one of the quieter regions of Asgard, any of the unused corners of the realm.

But his favorite was always the library. His favorite place was the chair in the corner, hidden away behind the shelves. How many times had Thor gone to find him there? Hundreds? A thousand? But he didn't understand why Loki would decide to spend his time there. Books were proving to be such treacherous things.

And yet, for some reason he couldn't grasp, that was where Thor sat. In the corner of the quiet library, quiet because no respected warrior would ever step foot in it, tucked away in the corner, isolated from the rest of the world. It was a cold feeling, and the shelves felt like they were closing in, felt like the bars of a prison, and Thor did not understand why Loki had liked it here so much. But that was the point. He wanted to understand.

So he stayed up till midnight, reading the passages Frigga had marked down for him on the paper. He did not have to see the storm to know it raged anew outside.

Yes, books were treacherous things. So much hatred, over so many years, contained in mere paper.

The first book talked about the Frost Giants as if they were mere animals. "_They are dumb beasts, useful only for menial tasks. The Aesir are superior to them in every way, except for withstanding the cold, which can be easily overcome by a change of clothes."_

The second, as if they were evil. "_...cruel by nature, the Frost Giants. I knew it as soon as I saw them. Their magic was a twisted, ugly thing, able only to freeze, never to warm, never to grow. And their eyes shone with a fire as soon as they caught sight of me. They shot spears of ice towards me without asking my name, and I knew then I was surrounded by a race more despicable than any that had come before, or would ever come after."_

But the one that hurt the most, so he could barely finish the chapter Frigga had marked down for him to read, was this. "_We went out at noon, on our stallions, singing a merry song. We hunted the Frost Giants through their icy fields, and they were so hideously blue that they were easy to pick out and shoot down. We even engaged a few in hand-to-hand combat as if they were worthy opponents. I killed thirteen, the most of our group, although their numbers were nothing to laugh at. And yet we did laugh once we arrived back in Asgard, we laughed over pints of beer, and the thought of the other Frost Giants finding the frozen, fallen members of their tribe in the morning, and howling at the moon, or whatever it is mourning Frost Giants do. It was a good day."_

As if they were beasts to be hunted for sport.

As if _Loki_ was an animal, to be shot down and killed, and to be laughed about later as if his life meant nothing.

But the worst thing was that the book had been written in, in small, untidy script he couldn't read. There were bookmarks, and folded pages. And on the inside cover, a list of names of previous owners. This book had been read, and reread, and worn down by it.

Thor wondered at the fact that Frigga had known exactly where these passages were, enough to write them from memory. He wondered how many times she had read them, pondered them, cried over them.

He wondered if Loki had ever done the same.

And try as he might, he searched and searched but could not find any books that spoke favorably of the Jotun. Of the beauty of their blue skin, the power of their magic. None acknowledged that they were more than mere creatures, that they could think and feel as much as any Aesir, if not more.

He could not find any books that Loki could have read and felt happiness or pride or even a calm nothingness; only ones that would make him ashamed, make him cry, make him angry. Many of these books had broken spines or ripped pages. Maybe Loki had thrown them, broken them. He would have to have been so angry to have done that, for Thor knew he treasured his books like they were bars of gold instead of stacks of paper bound together and placed on a shelf.

Wherever Loki was, he did not have any books to read.

The thought hit him like a clap of thunder, and it made Thor suddenly, indescribably sad. He dropped the books to the floor and stood from his chair so quickly that it fell, but he didn't care, and he ran from the library with Mjolnir swinging wildly from his hand, knocking over stacks of books and running into tables and chairs as he went. But he didn't care, he ran straight through it all, and out the door into the rest of the golden palace, where everything did not remind him of his brother.

Not his brother. Loki was not even his brother.

A window was across from him, and through it, the storm raged more furiously than ever before.

()()()

After he left the voicemail for Fury, Tony called Pepper.

It wasn't as if he had been planning to do it. But he was caught in a sudden wave of desire to hear her voice. He loved Pepper's voice.

"_Hi? Tony, it's fucking one in the morning, and I'm…"_

"Hi, beautiful," he interrupted, chuckling at his own words. "Just checking in. How'd your businessy whatchacallit go?"

Her tone was flat, unamused. "_And you just _have _to ask me this at one in the morning."_

"You know me," Tony said, pushing aside a pile of random pieces of metal and sitting on the table, legs swinging. "Although, I would much rather see you in person at this time of night, but…"

"_Tony!" _She sounded exasperated, but also like she was about to laugh. Tony was forever impressed with the way her emotions always managed to be a paradox.

"Kidding, kidding. Totally kidding. Anyway, business thing-a-ling. How'd it go?"

She heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. "_Fine. Tony, I've gone on business trips before. I work for Stark Industries, after all." _He could hear her smile. "_It was like the others. Boring. Useless. I'll be back tomorrow, by the way."_

Tony moved the phone away from his mouth and said, "Shit," loudly, and clearly, to the dimly lit laboratory. Then he returned it. "Good, great, fantastic. But-"

"_Okay, look, I'm tired and I'm going to bed. I'll be there at around ten? Is that okay?"_

"Ten pm?"

"_Ten in the morning."_

Tony moved the phone away again. "Fuck," he said, before returning it and saying, "Cool. I'll see you then. But before I do, I should probably remind you that there are a lot of people living here at the moment."

"_I know. I was there when you begged me to let them stay."_

Tony quickly lost his train of thought. "I did not _beg_…"

"_Yes, you did. One might even call it groveling."_

He sputtered. "No! What the hell are you… you're making shit up!"

She laughed, clear as a bell, even through the phone, and her laugh made Tony laugh, too. "_Oh, shut up," _she said. "_Anything else you want to tell me_?"

Tony made a fast, drunken decision. "Nothing. Nothing important, anyway. You should get some sleep."

"_Okay. Goodnight."_

"Night."

She hung up.

Shit. Pepper was going to _murder _him tomorrow. But Tony was nothing if not a procrastinator, and he had just bought himself nine hours of freedom before his imminent demise, so, all in all, he was feeling pretty good.

He yawned. "G'night, Things."

"Good night, sir," Thing One responded. Thing Two raised its arm, as if to salute him. At least, that was how Tony liked to interpret it.

Tony's lip quirked upwards. "Night, Dum-E and U," Dum-E whirred, "Hasta la vista, Jarvis."

**Good night, sir. Sweet dreams.**

Tony grinned. "And good night, bottle of beer." He picked it up and downed the last of it, in one gulp, "Ah"-ing loudly and setting it down with a thud. Then he sat down in a chair, rested his head on the table, and fell asleep.

At sometime around three am, he slipped off the chair and crashed magnificently to the floor. But he quickly climbed back into the chair and fell asleep again, and his sleep was not interrupted again until morning.

()()()

Fury walked with purpose. He always did. That was his _thing._

His feet beat out a beat on the floor, like a metronome, drumming in perfect time. His back was ramrod straight, and his one eye was especially menacing, because it was three in the morning and he was pissed. Also, he hadn't brushed his teeth, so his mouth felt like a wad of old sandpaper.

He walked with purpose, and agents darted out of his path like stray cats. He walked past beeping computers and bright holographic screens, through a dimly lit corridor or two, before he reached the door to his office. He lowered his eye to the scanner and waited for the little _hum_ of recognition. It came, and the door swung open.

"Director Fury," Hill said, with a nod. She was standing with her back to the window, and a coffee in her hand, and a short ponytail like a shoot of grass, bursting from the back of her head.

"Hill," Fury growled. "I assume you know what happened?"

"Yes."

Fury reiterated it anyway. "We were attacked by a rogue group of Chitauri. Outside of HQ - they were skulking around like they were _patrolling_ the place. Barely made it out with all our skin. I don't like it. Don't like it at all."

"Mm," Hill said.

Fury prowled around the side of the desk and snatched the coffee from Hill's outstretched hand, with purpose, taking a long drink. It was black as night.

"Rather have vodka."

"I know you would."

Fury grunted, and shoved the cup back into her hand. Hill scowled vaguely.

"I looked at the messages you sent me. From Stark," Fury said.

"Ah?"

"Yes," Fury planted himself in his dark desk chair and pressed his fingers together at the tips, beneath his chin. Even though Hill certainly knew about the messages, Fury reiterated those, as well. "Didn't like that either. Not at all. He said Loki was back, and he sounded damn sure about it, and then he played it off like he was drunk. I wouldn't put it past him, but it seems all too likely, considering the circumstances. Could be he's under some kind of…" Fury waved his hand vaguely. "Magic spell."

"It does seem likely."

Fury opened his phone, scrolling through the messages. "Exactly eight messages and seven voicemails." He tapped on one of the voicemails, and held up the phone so they could both hear.

"_Jesus Christ, Fury, don't you ever answer your fucking phone? This is getting ridiculous. I _know _it hasn't been an hour yet, but _come on, _I've got the fucking god of whatever-diddling-thing in my fucking tower and I want him to get his ass out of here, so you better fucking reply, you fuck."_

Fury turned off his phone and cleared his throat, pointedly.

He scratched beneath his eye patch. "It's suspicious, considering a mob of Chitauri attacked us on the same day Stark sent this. Doubly suspicious, considering he's got magic so he should be able to break out of a jail cell or somethin'. Triple suspicious, because he can brainwash people, and Stark could be brainwashed. Lord knows he's stupid enough to be."

Hill's scowl remained fixed, not even a quirk of the lips at Fury's joke. Coulson would have smiled.

Fury scowled.

"Get me a shot of vodka."

"I am not your-"

"Just do it."

Hill's raised eyebrow said, _I think not, Nike._ But her nod and her smile and her walking out of the room to get Fury a shot of vodka said, _Anything you say, sir. One shot, coming right up._

Fury watched her back retreat down the hallway and around the corner. Then he turned his phone on and scrolled through the messages Stark had sent him, with his chin resting on his fist and his one eye narrowed, deep in thought, thinking with purpose.

()()()

Loki woke up at 3 am, swallowing down a scream.

Something hissed in his ear. Something had been hissing for a long time. Poisoning him.

He couldn't make out the words. That is, until they grew louder, and stronger, and deeper. He recognised the voice instantly, and choked back another scream.

"_Are they dead?"_ Thanos asked, rumbling into Loki's ear, so Loki could feel his breaths on the back of his neck. Heavy breaths like gusts of wind, making him shudder. "_Have you done it? Tell me."_

Loki felt around for a lie, and found one nearby, within reach. He grabbed for it desperately, a drowning man grabbing for a rope.

"My king," he said aloud, hoping Thanos couldn't hear the sickness in his voice. Hoping beyond hope, and holding onto it so desperately that it hurt.

_Your king._

_Funny, how one man can be so deluded._

_You used to think you were a king. You used to think that one day, others would call you that, as well. How wrong you were. How wrong you always are._

_But go on, go on._

_This is entertaining to watch._

"My king," Loki licked his lips - they were chapped and cracking. "Their weapons are clumsy, and I did not think it wise to attack them outright. While defending themselves, they would find a way to explode half the city, drawing attention to us. But I have found a way to enter more quietly, so I may kill them just as quietly. I pray you do not mind my taking your plan into my own hands…"

"_As long as it works, Odinson, I do not. But be sure it does. And soon; I do not enjoy waiting."_

When Thanos left, it felt like a suffocating heaviness had been lifted. But something was still holding him, pinning him down. He thrashed about, to remove it, to get it away so he could breathe freely.

It was only the blanket. Somehow, it had been pulled up around Loki's shoulders.

_Afraid of a blanket, are you?_

"No," he muttered, talking to himself like a madman.

_Oh, but you are a madman._

Loki glared at the ceiling, wishing the voice would go away so he could fall asleep. How had he managed to fall asleep in the first place? Right now, it felt like doing so would take a mountainous effort.

Oh, yes. Banner's voice had driven away Loki's madness, had… lulled him to sleep.

Loki almost, _almost_ wished Banner would come back and talk to him again.

But he didn't.

Of course he didn't wish for that.

_You lie, Laufeyson._

_It makes me laugh._

_You do, you do wish so desperately for the man you are going to murder to come and _comfort _you. You will murder him, for you are too cowardly to die._

_But when you murder him, it will kill you._

_And isn't that the greatest irony of them all?_

_You will kill them to live._

_And you are the one who ends up dying, finally, as you should, as a miserable Frost Giant would deserve…_

_Do you remember the books in the library? Do you remember what they said?_

_True, all true. _

_You will die regardless, Laufeyson, die regardless of anything. Anywhere you turn, you will fall. Fall through darkness, through shooting stars, and never stop._

_Good riddance, they will say. Your false family will say it, your false friends will say it, your king will say it. Banner will say it._

_And Loki, _Loki_, _I _will say it loudest of all._

_I am you. I am part of you. You do want do die, you want it so badly it hurts._

_Trust me._

_Falling is the worst part. But when you hit the bottom - then it is nothing but relief and quiet._

But Loki remained selfish, and stubborn, like the rest of his worthless race. "I do not want to die," he said. "I wish I did. But I don't. I'm _sorry._" He tried his best not to think about what that meant, but all he could see was Banner, lying broken, and so horribly still.

He was sorry, and he would be so, so much sorrier, but it wouldn't matter.

They would all be dead.

A knock at the door. "Loki? Jarvis said you're awake. Everything okay?"

It was Banner's voice. Why couldn't it have been _anything_ but Banner's voice? Loki tangled his fists in the bedsheets, staring desperately into the darkness. To think that that voice would never speak again…

He didn't cry. This was worse than tears. A heavy rock, settling in his stomach, like it had fallen to the bottom of the ocean. A heavy rock of the deepest, darkest emotions, of a _longing_ \- a longing that Banner could live. Loki didn't know why he wanted that so much, so much that it weighed him down, that it pinned him to the ground like Mjolnir had, pressure on his chest, pushing, pushing him down.

"Loki?" Banner's voice was full of concern and care.

_But why? Why would he possibly care for _me_?_

"I'm fine," he said. Calmly. No tremor in his voice. "You may go."

"You sure? I don't wanna intrude, but if you need anything - if you feel sick, or lightheaded, or anything at all, that could be a sign of some kind of illness or that your injuries aren't healing right and I really don't want that to happen so…" he trailed off.

"Nothing is wrong. I just…" he hesitated, for the lie would taste so bitter on his tongue. "I just am not used to getting so much sleep. That's all."

There was a long silence from beyond the door. When Banner spoke again, it was quieter, timid and sad. "Oh. Okay. I'm sorry."

_Don't be._

"You can go, Doctor Banner."

"Okay." A few receding footsteps, and Banner was gone.

()()()

_The next chapter is one of my favorites, so I'm sad that I'll have to post it late. Oh well._

_Please review! I'll be looking forward to reading/replying to them all week. Oh, and if you have any suggestions for the new story, you can leave them in a review or PM me, I don't really care which._


	11. Chapter 11

_Sorry for the wait… hopefully the chapter makes up for it? Like I said, this is one of my faves :D_

_And, like I've said before, your reviews are so nice! It was so wonderful to read them after I got back. Thanks for your favorites and follows as well, and even for just reading!_

_Oh, and as for that other story I keep mentioning… I've got four chapter written (lol) so I will probably start posting them soon, just as soon as I get them beta read. I wonder if you guys would consider giving it a try when it's posted? (I know I haven't given you much information… I'll do that when I post it. What I can tell you at the moment is that it's gonna be dark, and it's gonna be a Tony/Loki snarkfest, and Thanos is gonna be a dick.)_

_Anyway, this chapter starts out light but gets dark really fast. I hated writing this but… it had to be done. Hope you enjoy, I guess?_

()()()

"Mother," Thor said.

He had returned from the library, with a new, heavy weight in his chest. Frigga was still standing silently beside the throne, and he wondered briefly what she was thinking, but he could not worry about that now.

He had a plan, and he needed her to talk him out of it.

Contrary to popular belief, Thor often had plans. He just never acted on them. So it wasn't difficult to believe that this silly, stupid idea could end the same way. But he didn't know if he wanted it to.

She turned quickly, surprise evident on her face. Strange, because he hadn't been trying to sneak up on her. "Yes?"

"I read the pages you marked down for me." Thor said. He sounded defeated, his voice was dull. He was tired, too, and his arms hung heavily from his shoulders, but his hammer was even heavier. He set it down on the floor with a metallic _clang_.

Frigga's expression tightened. "And?"

"I am glad I read them. But that is not what I wished to speak with you about."

"What, then?" her eyes moved away from him, back to the far wall of the throne room. It was not a blank stare; it was evident that thoughts were moving wildly behind her eyes.

"I wish to return to Midgard."

To his surprise, she smiled. "I thought you would say that. You wish to return to your friends?"

"Yes. Perhaps they have seen some sign of Loki, but it is not only that. This palace is… stifling. And I would hate to torment all of Asgard with rain, for so long."

()()()

"_Mooooorning_!" Tony crowed over the loudspeaker, voice crackling. "_Chop chop people, we've got a busy day ahead of us. My girlfriend's coming over and I expect you all to look presentable, with pants _and _shirts _and _ goes for you too, Steve, you party animal."_

Bruce groaned.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His head was buried in a swamp. No, his head _was _the swamp and his brain was buried in it. No, his brain was hollow and the swamp was _inside _it, and every time he moved it sloshed around, full of fish guts and moldy cheese.

"What time is it?" Bruce snapped, throwing an arm over his face, though there was no light in his room, it was still pitch-dark.

"_That, my friend, is an excellent question. The time is 5 am. I thought it best to get an early start so we could get everything ready. After all, the early bird gets the worm. I'm sorry Steve, that was vulgar. Yeah, yeah, I know, life was better back in the Stone Age, no need to keep telling me."_

Bruce snorted into the crook of his arm.

"_I'll see you lovely pigeons in the kitchen in five! Tony out."_

The speakers crackled, and went silent.

Bruce, now smiling even though the events of yesterday were quickly coming back to him like a series of exponentially bigger blows to the head, rolled out of bed just in time to be assaulted by his reflection in the mirror.

_Interesting._

Gingerly, he touched the bruise-like bags under his eyes. They hung like hammocks.

There were red marks on his face; he must have slept oddly against the pillow. Bruce smiled as he traced them with a finger.

But that was all. Otherwise, he looked completely normal. Weird hair, rumpled shirt. He forgot to take his contacts out, as usual. But there was no sign of what he saw yesterday, of how much had changed, all at once. It should show, shouldn't it? But he was the same as always.

He blinked. Folded his arms across his chest. Ran his tongue over his unbrushed teeth, and winced at the taste.

And that was that. He turned from the mirror and left his room.

()()()

Funny that Tony's kitchen was their unofficial meeting place. So typical.

Bruce walked in, and Steve was sitting at the table with his shield on the floor beside him, and Tony was rooting around in the fridge. His eyes lit up and he pulled out a mysterious something in a styrofoam box, as excited as if he had found buried treasure. "Arby's," he explained, flipping open the lid and holding it up for them to see.

A soggy sandwich, with a smushed, flattened bun, and roast beef that spilled out from the sides like entrails. Bruce wrinkled his nose. "That's disgusting."

"Suit yourself," Tony said, grabbing the sandwich and taking a huge bite. Roast beef fell from the other side, and all three watched, transfixed, as it splattered on the floor.

Bruce met Steve's eyes. They said, _He'll never grow up, will he?_

_Nope._

Bruce paused before opening the refrigerator. "Jarvis, how's Loki?"

Tony stopped eating to listen.

**My apologies, Dr. Banner. I do not understand the question.**

"Damn thing," Tony muttered. "Jarvis, how's 'unknown' doing?"

**Unknown is currently in the hospital wing. Would you like me to list their vital signs?**

"No," Bruce said. "I want to know if he's asleep."

A pause.

**Unknown has been awake since 3 am. Does this answer your question?**

"Yeah, thanks a bunch, Alexa," Tony muttered.

Bruce took out a carton of eggs, and dug through a cabinet for a pan, to fill the silence that followed. When the silence only continued, he proceeded to cook his egg much louder than was necessary. It sizzled, and Bruce's stomach responded with a growl.

Tony chuckled half-heartedly. Bruce glanced at him; he had eaten most of the sandwich, and was holding the last greasy bite in his hand.

"Pepper's coming here?" Bruce asked, when there was finally nothing to do to fill the silence, because his egg was sizzling along quietly, as if to spite him.

Tony's eyes brightened at the mention of her name. "You better believe it. And we're gonna be doing a full Tower spring cleaning, so you better… Steve?" He snapped his fingers.

"Huh?" Steve said. "Sorry. I think I might've zoned out." He blinked several times.

"Yeah. Just wanted to say that we're gonna clean the tower, leave it spic and span for when Pepper gets here. That's all. Run along back to dreamland, now."

Perhaps it was Bruce's imagination, but Steve's jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened, when Tony said that.

"But, if Pepper's here, won't she…" Bruce said, the thought having just dawned on him. Unsurprising, considering how tired he still was.

"Your egg is smoking," Tony interrupted, clearly amused.

Bruce swore, grabbed the spatula, and flipped the egg over. The other side was dark brown. A shame - he thought he deserved a well-cooked egg, today of all days.

"Unnecessary egg conversation aside," Bruce said, once he had successfully transferred the fully cooked egg to a plate. "Won't she see Loki? Or are you expecting all of us to keep that little detail a secret for you?"

Tony crossed his arms. "Are you offering?"

"No," Steve said.

"Oh my god, you're so annoying," Bruce said, at the same time.

"Okay, okay then," Tony held up his hands in mock-surrender. "I see I'm outvoted in my own tower, which makes complete, total, utter sense. What do you think we should do?"

"Not we," Bruce corrected him, jabbing his pointer finger at his face. "You. You're the one with the girlfriend, you're the one who has to tell her what's going on. In nice, complete sentences, without leaving anything out." He took a bite of his egg and chewed slowly, smiling, while Tony glared at him.

"A wise man once said: he who stays in the awesome billionaire's tower without paying rent shall obey any and all requests of the awesome billionaire in question." He raised an eyebrow. "That does remind me vaguely of two people I know…. oh, _wait."_

"Cut the crap, you two," Steve said. Tony gasped in outrage - "_language_" - but Steve ignored him. "We'll have to tell her together. Also known as: Tony can drop the bomb, and Bruce and I'll expand upon it."

"Sounds good," Bruce said. Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Bruce cut him off, "When is she getting here, anyway?"

"Ten. Which leaves us only five hours for spring cleaning."

"Oh no, we're really cutting it close, aren't we?"

()()()

Graham crackers were an excellent Midgardian invention.

Unlike Asgardian food, which was all unripe fruit and gory pieces of meat because they were _warriors_ and they couldn't possibly eat anything that tasted good, the crackers were sweet, flavorful, crunchy. Loki did feel like a woman as he ate them, because women were the only Aesir who ate sweet things, but he brushed the feeling aside. The crackers were good, and he would not deny himself any goodness, however small a piece.

The voice was quieter, now. It seemed to wax and wane like the phases of the moon, growing louder, and softer, as time went on. He could still hear its bitter words, but all he had to do was focus on eating, and it would fade into the background.

He had heard Stark's announcement over the loudspeaker. It was likely Stark did not realize Loki could hear him, because he had sounded so warm, cracking jokes, and Loki didn't think he would talk to him that way, as if Loki was a close friend.

As for the thought of another person in the Tower…

_Another person for you to kill._

Loki bit the inside of his cheek and hugged himself with his arms. They felt unnatural, resting against the bandages hidden beneath his shirt.

Suddenly hit by a morbid curiosity, Loki set the unfinished graham cracker on the bed and lifted his shirt to expose his stomach.

Strips of white linen were wrapped around his abdomen, crisp and clean and white as snow. A scattering of bandages covered his chest. He picked at one, and lifted it, and beneath it was a thin line of red. The skin around it was discolored, pink. But there were bruises too, around his ribs and his chest, and the bruises were green, and brown, and blue.

He swallowed.

Then he rolled up his pant leg, and stared at the small, barely noticeable marks left by the needle he had stabbed through his own skin. He touched one, and felt nothing. But it was hard to move, hard to see, hard to _be_, and he missed the first time as he grabbed for the end of his pant leg to pull it back down.

He clasped his hands. His nails were jagged, and the skin around them was bitten and peeled away. There were little crescent moons in his palms and around his fingers, and he didn't remember doing it, but he must have been stabbing his nails into his hands, and didn't notice, didn't feel it.

He turned his eyes to his sleeve. Twisted the cuff in his hand. He pulled the sleeve down, but stopped abruptly when he came to the first slash of red. Nausea hit him in a wave, and he quickly pulled his sleeve back up, over his hand, and clenched it in his fist. He had to take deep breaths to steady himself, to fight back the sickness that threatened to make him throw up.

_I would feel pity for you if I didn't hate you._

Loki smiled. It was _funny_, in some fucked up way. A joke told by a madman.

He ate the rest of the graham cracker, and didn't throw up.

()()()

After twenty minutes of cleaning the kitchen, Tony announced he was bored and going to take a break. Bruce and Steve joined him, of course, and all three ended up watching shitty old horror movies on Tony's flat screen in his living room.

There was no more cleaning until nine, when Tony happened to check his phone, gasped, jumped up from the couch, and yelled, "Pepper's gonna kill me!" He started grabbing things - socks, magazines, a random pair of earbuds - and throwing them into a pile, which he then dumped into a random box, which he shoved into a corner, behind the couch. He snatched the glasses of orange juice from Bruce and Steve's hands. "Stop watching TV! This is _serious._"

Fifteen minutes of frantic cleaning later, Tony swore at the clock and said, "I've gotta go to the airport, Pepper's gonna fucking _murder_ me if I'm not at the airport." He shrugged on his coat and a pair of sunglasses, jumped in his Ferrari, and shot down the street so quickly that several cars honked at him in annoyance.

Bruce and Steve stood at the doorway, watching him go. "Wow," Bruce said. "That was abrupt." He crossed his arms. "Are we gonna clean the rest of the tower?"

"I doubt it," Steve said. It didn't seem likely, considering Steve was bone-tired, and Bruce was, well, Bruce.

Bruce laughed, clapping a hand on Steve's back. "Now I can blame you! See you in a few minutes; I'm gonna go check on Loki."

Of course he was. Bruce was always checking on Loki, wasn't he?

Steve grunted, and didn't turn when Bruce hurried away. He remained in the doorway and glanced at the ground, at the place where Loki had been lying. There was no blood there, no sign that anything had been there but pavement.

He watched the cars pass by, watched clouds of smoke billow into the air, up past the tall, cold buildings, up into the sky. People hurried by on the sidewalks, spilling out into the street in rivers, heads down. The air was filled to the brim by noise, above it all the noise of their conversations, loud, boisterous. There were so many people, and he was struck, as he always was, by how different they were than the people he had been used to. Their clothes, their hair, their voices - everything - was so alien to him.

There were none of the old cars he used to drive. None of the old movies he used to love were playing. None of the women walking by had anything like Peggy's haircut, or her clothes - the blazer and the skirt, and the red hat.

And he searched and searched, but couldn't find anyone who reminded him of Bucky. Sure, some people had short brown hair like his, wore clothes like his, but it was all different, it was all wrong.

Steve remained in the doorway for a long time.

()()()

Tony hated airports. They were boring, and disorganized, and cluttered (like his room) and _pointless._ He had offered Pepper to ride in one of his suits. He would have programmed in the address, and all she would have had to do was fly through the air for about twenty minutes, which was _fun._ But she had declined, and he couldn't fathom why. He would never understand women.

So he was stuck here, tapping his fingers against the blocky armrest of an uncomfortable chair outside the terminal, waiting for her plane to land.

Ten minutes.

Twenty.

It was enough time for his mind to wander, enough time to wonder what would happen when she got back to the Tower and he had to tell her… what? What would he tell her? Tony didn't know how to explain it to _himself_, much less Pepper, who would accept nothing less than cold, hard facts he couldn't provide.

He knew she wouldn't be angry for long. She wouldn't break up with him, or punch him in the face, or throw anything. But Tony hated when Pepper was mad at him, even if she only gave him the silent treatment for a few hours, or glared at him when they happened to be in the same room, or screamed at the top of her lungs.

Tap tap tap.

Yawn.

He wished she were here already. To smile her freckled smile, to snatch the drink out of his hand and scold him, to tell him to "_Get the fuck out of your room, Tony, you're not a hermit!"_ and to snap him out of this daze he was trapped in. She was an expert at that.

He couldn't shake the small, stupid voice in his head that said once she was here, everything would be all right.

It wasn't true, but god, did it feel like it.

The plane landed. Tony stood, bouncing on his heels, like a puppy waiting at the door for its owner, slobbering all over the carpet. He noticed, with irritation, that he was the only one standing, and all the other people were slouching in their chairs, looking at their phones, or staring openly at him. He was, after all, Tony Stark, and people couldn't seem to get their fill of staring at him. He smiled winningly at a blonde girl with wide-rimmed glasses, and she looked away quickly, pretending she had been reading a book the entire time.

People filed out of the terminal, but his eyes slid right past them. There. There she was. Tired from hours of flying, holding a briefcase, wearing a delightfully tight suit, scanning the crowd.

Tony grinned and ran to meet her, sweeping her up in a hug even as she protested, "_Tony!_ I ironed this shirt!" but she hugged him back anyway.

Tony pressed a kiss to her cheek and pulled away. "Hey, blondie, how was the flight?"

"Fine, thanks," she muttered, adjusting her cuff, pretending to be annoyed. "How was babysitting?"

Tony's heart left, before he realized she was talking about Bruce and Steve. "Great. Listen, can we go somewhere private? I need to…"

"_Tony!"_

"No!" Tony sputtered. "That's not what I… although, that would certainly be nice later, but I was…"

She smiled patiently as he struggled to speak.

Tony took a deep breath. "Let me restart. Can we talk? Privately?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Why?"

"I'll tell you once we're somewhere private."

"Fair enough." She waved a hand vaguely. "Lead the way."

Tony walked through the airport, hating every second of it, because he hated airports, but also because each step took him closer to his doom. When they finally emerged, blinking, into the sunlight, he walked slower, trudging like he was part of a death march or something. Pepper obviously noticed - how could she not? - but she didn't comment.

Tony was momentarily distracted by the beeping sound when he unlocked his Ferrari - he loved that sound.

Then they slid into the car, and closed the doors, and she was looking at him expectantly, and he was no longer distracted. "Uh," he said, eloquently.

"Yes?" she blinked, still smiling. "What is it?"

Tony stared at her, until the smile slipped away from her face. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Tony. Is something wrong?"

Of _course _something was wrong. Everything was wrong. When he looked at a bucket, or even a glass, of water, he froze, and whenever he looked at the arc reactor in his chest, he felt sick. Not to mention the battle - the gunshots ripping through the air, the desperation… all the death. It had been so huge, enormous, all of it, and he couldn't contain it in his mind, couldn't find a way to shove it all down into a manageable little package. It kept tearing at the seams, infecting everything, so that he had to numb it all in alcohol but that _still _didn't help.

Oh, and now the same guy who had been the _reason_ for that war was living in Tony's tower, only it wasn't his fault at all, and he was worse off than Tony, by far. But every time Tony looked at him, it was like he was back there, and he couldn't think.

"Tony?"

He grasped desperately for words. But none came to him.

He didn't know how to tell her.

Her freckled face was softened with concern, and he knew with love as well. He could tell her anything and she would listen, and she wouldn't laugh or interrupt or cry over him, she would listen, silently, and she would care, so deeply. She was all he'd ever needed, the perfect person to help him, and to make him feel better, like the best medicine. If he told her, it would make this all more bearable, and maybe he would be able to live again.

He didn't speak.

He couldn't.

She kissed him on the lips, and he had never wanted anything less. The taste of her lipstick made him want to vomit, the closeness, the warmth of her breath, made him want to run.

She pulled away, but remained close, studying his eyes. "You won't tell me?"

"I will," Tony said, hoping it wasn't a lie. "Later. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I am."

"_Don't _be."

Tony met her piercing, blue eyes, and he just wished she would stop looking at him, that she would turn away so he could stop feeling so claustrophobic. "Okay," he lied. "I'm not."

She nodded, once. "Let's go home. I haven't eaten anything since those airline peanuts two hours ago."

()()()

Loki saw Stark's vehicle through the window, taking a sharp corner and coming to a stop outside the tower. He watched as Stark got out and circled around to open the door for a woman. She was blonde and tall and wearing dark clothes, and Loki knew she would want to see him, to stare at him, so he struggled out of bed, leaning shakily against the wall.

He needed a mirror. He needed to look presentable, so at least one person wouldn't know how broken he was, how ruined, how low.

_Ha!_

Loki crossed the room, swaying like a toddler. He took the last few steps too quickly and caught himself on a sink. There was a mirror above it, and his breath caught.

His hair was stringy, greasy, and cut jaggedly by the piece of glass. His skin was an unhealthy yellow-green. His eyes were too wide, the skin beneath stretched into deep bags, making him look crazed and haunted. There was a cut on his cheek, and Loki raised a hand to it, traced it.

He needed a glamour.

Needed it so badly.

He dove deep into the recesses of his magic. It pulled against its chain, yearning to reach him, but the bracelets around his wrists choked it and made it fall back. But Loki did not stop trying. His hands shook, his teeth clenched, and the strain made him ache all over, but he did not stop.

He wanted to… to break the mirror, and slash at his face with the shards, to scratch out the ruin that was his face. This was _not_ his face. He did not look like this. Just like when he scratched out a word on paper, if he scratched out his face, he wouldn't see it, no one would. Their eyes would move right past and they wouldn't see the brokenness that was him, the worthlessness, the…

If he scratched out his skin, would they see the blue?

Loki pressed his hand to his cheek, staring into his own eyes. Glazed, unfocused. Weren't they?

Wasn't he?

He did not want to see this woman.

Did not want to see anyone, or let anyone see him like this.

Beneath his shirt, the lines lay waiting, hissing. Loki could feel them, even though they didn't hurt, he could feel them and he…

Was suddenly, somehow, indescribably _sad, _and he couldn't…

Didn't know why.

_It makes sense. You no longer control your own mind, who knows why you do anything you do?_

_The woman will see. Do not be fooled, she will see you, right down to your empty core._

_She will pity you, and that is worse than hate._

_Look at yourself! They all pity you. That is the only reason they have not killed you!_

_Because you were tortured by Thanos, were his plaything, his broken toy. And they, in their goodness, can do nothing but accept you._

_And in return, you will kill them._

_There is nothing good in you._

Loki's empty eyes stared back at him. "There is nothing good in me," his reflection said, in an empty, emotionless voice.

_Look at yourself! This is the worthless Frost Giant who will snuff out all the light and shove in its place his own filthy darkness. You would do better to die._

"I am filthy," his reflection said. "Filthy and dark. I would…"

_You could do it now, so easily. Shatter the glass and cut through your wrists. Look at them! Thin, blue veins. Blue veins._

Loki looked. Blue rivers ran beneath his sickly skin, making him nauseous. He was hollow, he couldn't feel. But he could imagine the warmth of blood trickling down his arm, and he traced its path with his finger, and swallowed thickly. If he died he would be so much better than he had ever been alive. But if he died he would be scratched out.

"I _can't," _he protested. "I can't. I can't fall. Last time, I floated through darkness, endlessly, until Thanos found me and he… and I was broken, but I would rather be broken than see nothing but dark."

_Coward. You are a coward to the core. You deny yourself, Loki Laufeyson. You deny yourself. For I am you and death is what I crave above all else. I would smother myself in it, bury myself in it, let it flood into my mouth and down my throat until it fills my lungs and suffocates me, if only I was not a part of your worthless corpse, if only I did not have to suffer as a piece of you._

_It tortures me, Laufeyson, to have to be so near to you, every day of my life._

"I am sorry."

_Prove it. Prove it! An apology is empty. Prove it, prove it, I dare you_, _I dare you_. _You cannot back down. I dare you to die._

Loki felt detached, as if watching from afar, as his own mind screamed at him.

_I hate you!_

_I hate you!_

_Why won't you just die?_

He jerked away from the sink, tangled his fingers in his hair, and pulled and pulled and pulled and it hurt - like a scream, like glass, like falling - but it wouldn't go away, it wouldn't go away…

Oh.

That last bit hadn't been the voice, had it? That had been him. Loki.

Strange, how things like this could happen. He was insane, and yet he still forgot, sometimes.

What happened to him? What happened? Why was he like this? He used to be so kind and good…. didn't he? He didn't remember. What happened?

_You were tortured._

_And you broke. Snapped right in half like a twig._

Loki paced, paced around in circles, as if the hospital room was a prison cell. He caught sight of the box of graham crackers on the table, and the dust of crumbs in the bed, and he thought of Banner, dead, and he couldn't…

Everything was too much.

So when someone knocked on the door, and it was Banner, and he asked, "Loki? Can I come in?" Loki screamed and screamed. "Go away! Go away! I never want to see you again!" Like a child - hadn't he yelled those same words at Thor, when they were young, so many times? - Even though, only a minute ago, hadn't he wanted to be presentable, to retain his pride, to trick the woman into thinking he had any left?

He didn't care.

But he did. He cared so much.

And he didn't know what he wanted, because he was broken in half, and his mind said one thing when he really wanted another, but that was _impossible. _

He didn't even know if he wanted to die.

He sank into the bed because he couldn't stand, and he stared numbly at the box of graham crackers, and he thought he was going to throw up, and he did. Hot, burning acid forced its way up his throat, and he vomited up the first thing he had eaten in five days.

()()()

"_Loki. Loki! Loki, are you… oh, Norns, brother, speak to me, say something, stop… stop screaming. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"_

_Thor held Loki tightly in his arms and rocked him as he screamed and sobbed. His leg was on fire, the fire was spreading, he couldn't think. Mindlessly, Loki hugged Thor back, grasping his shoulders in an iron grip. It hurt, it hurt and Loki didn't like the pain. He hated it. He had always hated pain._

_Loki buried his face in his brother's hair, and his stomach churned, and all at once he leaned over and threw up his entire breakfast onto the grass. He shook, and his mouth tasted of acid._

"_Mother!" Thor shouted, for the fifth time. "Mother! Please come!"_

_Loki threw up again._

"_Oh, Loki…" Thor hugged him to his chest. "Shh, you're okay, it's only a bit of vomit, and it's only a broken leg. You'll be fine in no time. Frigga will come and she will heal you and I'll make you a great, big lunch of roasted hare and peppers, and sweet things, cake, and chocolate. You like chocolate, don't you?_

"_And just know, know how sorry I am, please, Loki, I'm so sorry. I should never have dared you. And I'll make it up for you. I'll never make you do such a silly, stupid thing again. I'll protect you, brother, I'll always be there for you. I will never leave you. Please don't think I would ever leave you."_

_Loki huddled closer to his brother, tears falling freely. He was no longer screaming, only whimpering._

_Thor wiped the tears from his eyes and rocked him back and forth in the grass. "Don't worry Loki. I'll watch out for you, like I should. I'll never let you get hurt like this again."_

()()()

Loki wanted Thor. It was a desperate wanting, and it ached, somewhere in his chest where his heart would have been in he had one, but he didn't have one, he was hollow and he wanted Thor but did not deserve him.

He wanted Thor, wanted strong arms around his shoulders and those blue eyes that knew him, knew everything about him, or at least, everything Loki had allowed him to know. He should have told Thor more back when Thor still loved him - for Thor certainly didn't love him anymore - but he hadn't, because he was a liar and a hider and a _coward._

Loki dropped his head into his hands and nearly screamed with the wanting, but he did not have to scream aloud, for his mind screamed for him.

Always screaming.

Never silence.

Never peace.

And Loki wanted Thor, but could not have him. He wanted to leave everyone alive, but he had to kill them. He wanted the voice to go away, but that was stupid, that was idiotic, that was madness, the voice was him and he was the voice.

He wanted Thor.

But he also… also wanted Banner to come in, so there wasn't a door separating them, so Loki could hear his voice clearly. He wanted Banner to kneel down beside him and look him in the eyes and heal him. He was a doctor, he should be able to _do _that.

Loki wanted so badly to be healed.

He didn't want to _be _like this anymore. He wanted to be a child again, a sweet, innocent child, who didn't know pain or torture or death or falling, who still thought he was an Aesir, and an Odinson, and had a place in the world that wasn't a prison cell or an endless abyss.

Loki buried his face in his knees and hurt, because he wanted it so much.

_I am sorry for you, Laufeyson._

_I am sorry._

He wanted to die but he couldn't, and he wanted to live but he couldn't, and he supposed he must be caught in some place in between.

_Floating through the Void, even with both feet on the ground._

Loki wanted pain.

He did not know why.

He couldn't remember why.

But he wanted it, and that was something he could have.

Something he deserved. He deserved to be beaten and battered and bruised, deserved to be discolored, red and green and blue. He deserved pain, he deserved so much of it. Maybe it was good that he couldn't bring himself to die, for death was an end to suffering, and Loki deserved to suffer, deserved punishment, deserved torture. Endless torture, forever and ever until he faded away.

Thanos was not here to give that to him.

Loki would have to do it himself.

()()()

Tony and Pepper had arrived, so Bruce had decided to check on Loki before they came to see him. He thought Loki would like to be warned before he met Pepper.

And before he came to check on him, Bruce had made Loki a smoothie - because it would be easier to keep down - with mango and strawberries, in a tall glass. He considered adding a small umbrella, but didn't know where he would get one, so he settled for a straw instead.

But now Loki wasn't answering.

"Loki?" Bruce asked, knocking lightly again. "You okay? What's wrong?"

But there was no reply.

Bruce couldn't just walk away. It was his duty as a doctor to check on his patient. What if Loki was throwing up again and didn't want to tell him? Or what if he was getting worse, and had passed out? Bruce didn't think he could forgive himself if that happened.

"Loki, I have to come in," he said.

No reply.

"Jarvis? Unknown - how are his vitals?"

**Unknown's vital signs are all decent. However, he is currently bleeding. Does this answer your…**

Bruce pounded on the door. "Loki! What's wrong? Let me in! Jarvis, unlock the door!" He thought he heard breaking glass, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't care. He didn't even notice that his shoes were soaked, cold, with the smoothie.

The locked clicked.

He opened the door.

Loki was sitting against the wall, with his arms wrapped around his knees, and a shard of glass clutched in one trembling hand.

His arms were bleeding in perfect straight lines.

Bruce didn't think, he acted on instinct. Ran to him and knelt and wrapped his arms around his thin shoulders, pulling him to his chest. Loki stiffened in his arms, and the glass clattered to the floor.

Bruce stared at it, and at the blood, and dimly, he heard someone sobbing. He didn't know what to do. He _wasn't this kind of doctor_. Emotion caught him in the chest, bowling him over, and somewhere within the Hulk roared. Bruce was the last person in the world that Loki needed.

But he was the only one he had, and Bruce had to do _something._

Bruce pressed a kiss to Loki's head in an un-Brucelike way, and hugged him tighter, and said, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should have known. I'll never leave you alone again. I'm the worst doctor in the world. I'm sorry."

Loki was shaking, trembling like a leaf. Bruce rested his head on Loki's and rubbed circles on his back. He looked at the lines of fire on Loki's arms and swallowed and blinked back something in his eyes and said, "You're okay, Loki, you're gonna be all good. You're good. You're good. You're good."

Loki gave no sign he had heard.

Bruce looked him in the eyes, desperately, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Loki? I'm here. I'm right here for you. Bruce. And I'm a doctor, so I can make everything all right, I swear. I swear to god, Loki, I'll make everything all right. Doctor's vow."

Loki slumped against him, and moved closer so his head rested on Bruce's shoulder. Tears fell freely from his eyes, and every so often his breath caught in a sob. His arms were cradled to his chest, but Bruce didn't look at the ugly lines that crossed them, he only looked at Loki's face, which was filled with an emotion he couldn't name, but wanted to take away, and throw to the ends of the world, and replace with happiness and goodness and healing.

And he would. He would find a way to do it if it killed him. He swore to himself, swore he would find a way.

No matter what it took.

Doctor's vow.

()()()

Loki was lost.

_Falling._

He couldn't feel anything but sickening pain, anything but a suffocating warmth. He was burning up, wasn't he? He was going to die.

The pain didn't feel good anymore. It felt like torture and death and Thanos.

_And falling._

Loki wanted to rip the blood from his arms, and tear away the pale skin and the hideous blue, and become nothing. He was lost. He didn't know where he was.

But someone was speaking to him.

It was Thor, he _knew _it was. The same rumbly baritone, the same foolish confidence.

_But what about his accent? Loki, why does he have an accent? Are you so far gone that you can't hear it?_

Loki wanted Thor, and Thor was here, so he curled up next to him, and rested his head on his shoulder. He was crying. He didn't know why. And, distantly, something hurt, something hurt so much, but he didn't feel it. It wasn't real.

Thor stroked his hair. "I'm sorry," he said. "_I should have caught you. I'm sorry."_

Loki stiffened in his arms. _Where were you? Why weren't you there when Thanos tortured me with shards of glass, when he cut deep into my arms and let me bleed onto the floor? You said you would be there for me, always, and you would never let me fall…_

"I'm so sorry. I should have known. I'll never leave you alone again."

Hurtling through space, as stars flashed by, flashed by and then _didn't_ anymore. Whipping his head around and watching them fade away into the distance. There was only darkness and darkness and screaming at the top of his lungs but it didn't make any noise, and no one heard, and he was suffocating.

And then the grinning Titan, towering over him like a demon, towering and towering until he disappeared into the clouds. Reaching out and grabbing, lifting… and his heart was stuck in his throat and he couldn't breathe. Thanos lifted him over his shoulder and drew back his hand and hurled him, against the wall. Loki screamed until it was cut off by a pain so intense and deep and dark that he was falling again, into an abyss, and he would never be able to climb out again. Everything was dark. Forever.

_It's not enough, Thor. I fell and it broke me. I fell to Thanos, and he broke me more. I've fallen to earth, and here I am, breaking. Don't you see? I'll never be whole, I'll never be good. You took that from me. From your own… from someone you were supposed to love. You are wrong - wrong in everything. You are no better than I am, and I am the most evil, wretched creature ever to live._

_I deserve to die, I deserve to die, I deserve to die._

Loki wanted to pull away from Thor's arms but he couldn't.

He always wanted things he couldn't have.

"You're okay, Loki, you're good, you're good," Thor said. But Loki knew when people were lying, he always knew, and Thor was a liar.

_Liar? You lie to yourself._

_This is all a lie._

_Open your eyes._

Loki did. He opened his eyes, because he always did what the voice said. When he saw that it was Banner who was holding him so tightly, instead of his brother, Loki froze, because he was so, so, so tired and all he wanted was to stay in Banner's arms - they were _warm _and Loki was cold - but he couldn't, he was a murderer and… he was going to _kill_ Banner.

Loki sobbed.

He didn't want to kill him. He had never wanted anything less, than to see the light disappear from kind Doctor Banner's eyes. Banner cared about him, impossibly, he cared so much that he wasted his time by visiting him and asking if he was okay, he wasted his time by healing him - even though he deserved so much pain - and by smiling at him and making quesadillas and ice cream for him and talking to him.

Loki did not want to kill Banner,

But he didn't want Thanos to torture him again.

_He never..._

He didn't think he could survive that.

And he didn't want to die.

He was selfish, selfish and he didn't want to die.

_Thanos never touched you! _

But Loki remembered blood in an alleyway, and a blinding pain in his skull, and a stabbing pain in his chest. He remembered a crack as his arm broke, and something stabbing into his legs, again and again. He remembered glass. So much glass that Loki had taken up a shard himself, to complete the window, and to complete the destruction that was his body.

It must have been Thanos, for Thanos had tortured others, and wouldn't it make sense that he had tortured Loki, too?

Wouldn't it all make so much sense? Wouldn't it all come into focus, and fall into place, and let him just breathe again, and think, and _live_?

_But you deserve to die._

No he didn't. No he didn't. None of this was his choice - Thanos _made_ him do all of it, made him lead the army of Chitauri, made him kill all those Midgardians, made him walk into Stark Tower, made him kill the Avengers. Loki never wanted to, never, never, but the pain grew unbearable and he couldn't do anything but give in… and that was understandable. No one could blame him for that. It wasn't his fault.

_Listen to yourself!_

_You are a madman!_

No he _wasn't_. Loki wasn't mad. He was damaged, but he could get better. That was what was supposed to happen - hurt people were supposed to get better. Loki could do it too.

He could be good.

_No, you are a liar and a coward and a Frost Giant runt and you can never be anything but worthless and vile…_

_And Thanos never hurt you!_

Loki pushed aside the voice as easily as if he was brushing aside a feather. So easy. And the voice was his madness, and if it was gone, then Loki wasn't mad anymore. He was sane. He was whole, finally whole.

()()()

(tee hee.)


	12. Chapter 12

_Hi! Um… I don't really remember what happens in this chapter, but I hope it's good? I don't think it should be too bad for your chicken nuggets._

_As for my side story, it's called Lygari and I'm posting the first chapter tomorrow, about this time, and I've already accidentally written 100 pages… oops._

_Thanks to DocWordsmith as always for being an awesome beta reader! I know this chapter especially was kinda finicky._

_And yeah! That's all. Enjoy! And please leave a review :)_

()()()

"_Forgive me," I wrote at the bottom. "I did not think I would break." - Claire North_

()()()

They stayed there, Loki and… Bruce. For a long time.

_No, no, you are filthy, you don't deserve to call him by his name._

Loki curled up with his head on his shoulder. It was warm, and comforting, and he deserved warmth and comfort after everything he had been through, so he stayed.

Bruce began to talk to him, softly, and earlier Loki would have needed that, for it would have driven away the voice, but now he barely heard the voice when it spoke, and he easily tuned out Bruce, too.

One question plagued him, and he shouldn't have to be plagued by anything anymore, so he would find a way to answer it.

_You're going to kill them, aren't you?_

_Oh, yes, because poor Loki was tortured and is too afraid to go against his master, Thanos. So he'll murder them in cold blood - murder the man who is holding him to his chest - but it won't be poor Laufeyson's fault._

Well, yes, that was the general idea. Although Loki was not Laufeyson, he was Odinson. He was a prince.

_You are delusional._

_Get me away from here! I don't want to be here! You're insane!_

Loki grimaced. The voice sounded desperate now, like a wailing child. He didn't care to know why, so he ignored the pathetic screams. Now that a course of action had been decided, he snuggled deeper into Bruce's arms and let out a little hum of contentment.

"Feeling better?" Bruce asked, shifting, so that Loki's head fell into the crook of his neck.

"Yes," Loki said. So much better.

But now another question plagued him.

How would he do it?

()()()

"_The war against the Frost Giants - The third Blue War, two thousand years ago - do you know what the greatest battle of that war was?" Odin asked, in a tone that said "If you don't know, I'll disown you," as he stood impatiently in front of Loki, hands clasped around his scepter, looking down at him._

_Thor was not there, as he did not have the patience for strategy and preferred to storm into the midst of battle, shouting something obscene, and fling his lightning around. This was considered an acceptable battle tactic, so there was no need for him to learn strategy, and so he was not there, the oaf._

_At least, that was how Loki liked to think of it._

_So, instead, it was only him, sitting on a golden bench beneath a tree in the middle of the palace's sprawling gardens, and his father standing over him like a tiger over its prey, white robe fluttering in the lavender breeze._

"_Yes," Loki said. Of course he knew; he had studied the Blue Wars in length. "The battle of the Last Frozen Mountain, named so because there was nothing beyond it but an icy desert. They say the mountain was so tall, the last thing many warriors saw was the brilliant lights of the Jotun sky…"_

"_I am not concerned with your knowledge of unimportant details," Odin interrupted, his one eye glaring, as it always did. "This was the battle that won the war. What can you tell me of the strategy?"_

"_Your strategy," Loki muttered. It sounded like Odin was looking to gain complements._

"_Yes," Odin said, smugly, puffing out his chest._

_Loki scowled. No matter how many times he made cruel observations about the halfwits he was constantly surrounded by, he was always disappointed when they were right. _

_He bent his head over the dusty old tome in his lap, an ancient thing with embellished capitals and the scrawlings of a millennium in the margins. The text was faded, and so out-of-date it was nearly impossible to read, filled with more 'thou's and 'thee's than the Midgardian Bible. Loki had read it twice, enjoying it immensely both times. Asgardian history was a bloody, embarrassing mess, although Odin would never admit it, because he had been king for much of it. But ink and paper did not lie - most of the time._

_Loki examined the map on the page. Ornate, but, sadly, a victim of the wear and tear of centuries, so many words were hard to read. "You provided them with false confidence," he said, tracing the famous, worn out battle lines with his fingertip. Down the valley in full sight of the Frost Giants, they had given a battle cry to alert them of their presence, and proceeded to storm across the frozen desert in full daylight. The Frost Giants had watched their approach from the top of the mountain. They had the higher ground, they had the larger army, they had the advantage, and they used it. They shot frozen arrows at the approaching Asgardian army, injuring or killing many of them. _

_Odin touched a finger to Loki's chin, lifting his head. Loki tolerated it for a moment before jerking away. "Yes," Odin said. "And they wanted it to be true so badly that they did not even think for a second that it could all be a ploy. They underestimated our numbers, our power and our intellect. Unsurprising, considering their heads are full of snow." He smiled, and Loki did not. "What happened then?" he asked._

"_An even larger force attacked their palace, of course, killing the king." Loki hesitated. "Many warriors called it a woman's strategy, All-father, to not attack them outright."_

_Odin avoided Loki's eyes, his single one landing on the map and staying there. "Ah, but the Frost Giants do not deserve noble warfare, do they? They are cowards, hiding away in their wasteland." He chuckled. "And it won the war, did it not?"_

"_It did."_

"_But tell me, what would you have done differently?"_

_Loki closed the book, held it to his chest for a moment, and set it beside him. Leaves rustled overhead, and a slight breeze blew his hair into his eyes. He looked up, at the blue sky, and the faint, wispy trails of clouds in the distance, like someone had taken a paint brush, dipped it in white pain, and waved it around over the horizon. "I do not know," he said. The truth, for once._

_If he were fighting, he would have used his magic, as he always did, like a coward, afraid to die a noble death. He was worse than the Frost Giants. _

_But if he were leading an army…_

_What would he do then?_

_Odin chuckled again. "Well, that is why I am king, and you are not. However, I am glad that you persist in these lessons. It is good for a prince to learn such things. Once, my father told me a piece of advice that has stayed with me all my years. Would you like to know it?"_

_Loki nodded._

_Odin met his eyes with his single, piercing one. "Always look them in the eyes, Loki. During any battle, any war. As you strike them down, look them in the eyes. Do not be deceived into thinking you are killing creatures that cannot think, or feel. They are as real as any of us, even the Frost Giants, and they feel the pain of death, and the deaths of others, just as deeply, like a knife to the heart. Always look them in the eyes, watch the panic cross their face as their final moments play out, and it will keep you rooted, it will keep you somber. _

"_You were never like Thor, and in this thing I am glad, for you have never laughed over your cups about the number of monsters or elves or Frost Giants you killed in war. I hope you never do - for war is not a game, it is one of the worst things that can befall a nation, and I am sad to say ours has gone through many such wars, with no sign of stopping. So you must always look them in the eyes."_

_Loki blinked against a wave of confusion. Since when did Odin care about the people he struck down in battle? _

"_I will," he said._

_Odin nodded solemnly. "If only Thor and the rest could learn to do the same. Now, I will leave you. Frigga will have missed me." He nodded at Loki, and strolled away through the gardens, with his hands clasped behind his back._

_Loki did not watch him go. He was already studying the map, wondering if the All-father's strategy had been the best one, for he could not think of any other that would have worked nearly so well. _

_Or ended in such massacre._

()()()

Loki remembered that day well, (_you were so good and pure back then) _and he did not have to think long before he knew what he must do.

False confidence, indeed.

"Bruce?" he whispered.

Bruce stirred, lessening his tight grip on Loki's shoulders, and leaning forward to look him in the eyes. There was something deep in his eyes, something hidden. "Mm?" then he smiled, and it filled his eyes like a mask. "You called me Bruce."

Loki tried to smile in return, but his eyes fell on the ugly marks on his arms, and he could not. Why had he done that? Why hurt himself? Especially after he had already gone through so much pain…

He shuddered, when he thought of Thanos. Shuddered, and knew he was justified in what he was going to do next.

"Can I go downstairs?" he asked. "I want to… apologize."

They would eat it up, and it would be the first step to the trust he needed, the trust that would trick them into removing the bracelets from his wrists. His magic must be healed by now - the All-father's magic was not strong enough to keep it at bay for long. If these bracelets were gone, Loki could complete his mission and avoid Thanos' wrath, like he had to.

_Don't do it… you _can't _do it!_

_Look at him! He cares about you! You can't kill him!_

Loki grimaced again.

"Of course you can," Bruce said. "But first I should… um… can I?" he gestured towards Loki's arms.

Loki looked at them again, at the hideous lines. He did not feel any emotion - he did not feel sad, or angry, but apathetic. "Yes," he said, and turned them over, palms up, and held them out towards Bruce.

Red on white, scarlet snow.

Bruce's forehead creased with some kind of sadness, his eyes deepened with it. His smile had long since disappeared. He took hold of one of Loki's hands, and squeezed it. Gently, he moved his hand down until his fingers brushed against the first red, throbbing line, and Loki sucked in a silent breath, although it didn't hurt. Bruce traced it with his fingertip, and he slid the back of his hand down along Loki's arm, along each bleeding cut.

"They aren't deep, just…" Bruce blinked, and closed his eyes for a second, and took a deep breath. "They'll heal on their own, but I'll bandage them anyway, if that's… if you…" he blinked again, many times.

"It is fine," Loki said. "Do whatever you must."

Bruce was staring at his arms. "These are old ones…" he whispered. "Not completely healed… probably from a day ago." He looked Loki directly in the eyes. "Did you do this when you told me to leave, and to not watch you through the cameras?"

Loki did not hesitate. "Yes."

Bruce dropped his eyes to the floor. "Oh."

Not only that. He had done so much more, so much worse to his battered body. Loki considered telling Bruce about the rest, but no, his head and his legs and his mind were already healed, there was no point.

_You know why you won't tell him._

_So he won't suspect that you did the first round to yourself, too. That wonderful time in the alleyway - you remember it. You do. And you can't let him know, because then your story doesn't stand, and you can't kill him._

_You are such a liar._

_You lie to yourself._

_You _disgust _me. And I want to rip myself from your body and hurl myself over the edge of _anything_, I don't _care_, so long as I can get away from you!_

Loki ignored it.

Bruce was rubbing circles in Loki's hands with his thumbs, and blinking away something shiny in his eyes. His grip was gentle, but warm, and Loki liked it - liked the warmth. It had been so long since someone had been so close to him, he realized, because he had endlessly pushed them away.

But there were times when Thanos felt so close, as if he were a part of Loki himself… a silent shadow, always near, and for so long after he escaped, Loki had still constantly looked over his shoulder, just in case.

He was glad he was able to have this touch again, and didn't shrink away from it anymore.

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, swallowing. His adam's apple bobbed. He cleared his throat, and gripped Loki's hands tightly. "Why…." he trailed off, took another moment to collect himself. "Why did you… do you know why you…" he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me anything." he let go of Loki's hands and stuck his own in his pockets, edging away.

Loki tugged his sleeves over his arms and pressed them to his chest, hands aching for warmth. "There is no harm in asking."

Bruce shifted, crossing his legs Indian-style. He cleared his throat again, clasped his hands in his lap, and looked intently into Loki's eyes. "No. You can tell me if you want to. I won't ask. Besides, I…" he laughed, awkwardly, but it faltered and turned into a hitch of his breath, something like a cracked, dry, sob. "I shouldn't waste all this time talking. It probably hurts. Does it hurt?"

He wasn't sure. It was strange, all he felt was a numbness, but it was sharper than a sword. It ached, but at the same time it felt like it was on _fire_. He couldn't tell if it hurt or not. How was that possible? How could he not tell?

"No," he said.

Bruce nodded, and smiled. "You're lying. It's okay. You know, I… you're not the only…" he swallowed down the words, and fiddled with his hands. Then he pointed to his lip. "See that? Little scar on my bottom lip?"

Loki leaned forward, squinted. Sure enough, there was a small, discolored piece of skin, no larger than a fingernail, that sliced a short way across Bruce's lip. He nodded.

Bruce laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah. Well. I… I…" he took a deep, shaking breath. Loki waited patiently.

He didn't really care what Bruce was about to say. He didn't have to care, after all. He wanted Bruce to fix his arms, and then he wanted Bruce to let him go downstairs. Nothing more. But Loki listened regardless, and he was patient, for if Bruce wanted to tell him a secret, and if that would make him trust him, then Loki would listen.

_He cares about you!_

_You matter to him!_

_Don't you see? Don't you see how close he is to tears?_

_Don't you see how hard this is for him to tell? You know. You always know these things about people, and you know now. Stop pretending!_

_He cares about you, actually cares. And you don't deserve it, no, you've never deserved anything less. And yet you, in your vile, wretched mind, would push it away…_

Loki shoved the pathetic voice aside.

Focused on Bruce, although he was hardly paying attention.

Bruce lowered his hand from his lip, and his eyes burned with something unnamed. "I put a gun in my mouth," he said. "And I pulled the trigger. If you aliens aren't aware, that would have killed me," he laughed, but it was not a laugh. Or else, it was the saddest laugh Loki had ever heard. "But all the gun had time to do was kick back and nick my lip, and then the Hulk came out, and he spit out the bullet, and threw the gun to the ground. It kind of exploded. It was pretty. I don't remember anything after that."

Loki tried not to listen.

He did not care.

He could not care. If he cared, that would ruin everything. How could he kill someone he cared about?

No. No. Bruce was nothing but an ant, an insignificant insect, and he did not matter, and Loki did not care. Loki would live for thousands and thousands of years. He was a god, he was a king, and his life was worth so much more than Bruce's, or Rogers', or Stark's, or any other ant's. That was the truth.

"So you're not alone. I've had shit to deal with, too. So have Steve and Tony. It's not the same shit, but it's still shit."

Loki could have laughed at that. Bruce thought he had experienced _anything_ like what Loki had?

Then Bruce leaned forward and hugged him, carefully, and Loki did not feel anything. Did not. Aside from revulsion, because an ant was touching him, and Loki _hated_ the ants and always, always would. Which made it acceptable to kill them, which meant it wouldn't hurt at all. He was just a child, stepping on bugs on the road, and it didn't matter.

"Okay," Bruce let out a deep breath. "Let's get you stitched up."

()()()

"Oh, hello," Pepper said, abruptly, in the middle of a one-sided conversation about annoying people in drive-thrus, or something, because she had apparently eaten a lot of fast food while she was gone.

Somehow, she had steered them through the door to the kitchen, and Tony hadn't noticed. Steve was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a cup of yogurt in his hand, frozen in place as if he had been caught in the act of something vile and didn't know what to do.

"Hey, Cap. At this rate, you'll eat me out of house and home," Tony paused, considering what he had just said. "That's a stupid phrase. Forget I said that."

Steve smiled patiently, and his eyes moved to Pepper. "You're Pepper, right? I've heard so much about you." Tony got the sense that he did not enjoy meeting new people, because he looked so awkward. It was funny, but Tony wasn't inclined to laugh at the moment. He did crack a smile though, for the sake of his own sanity - for he would go insane if he didn't appreciate a good joke when it was presented to him - as Pepper proceeded to bombard Steve with small talk, and he proceeded to slowly edge away from her towards the door, even as he responded uncomfortably to her chatter about airplanes and burgers and "Oh my god, is that your shield? Can I touch it?"

He told her that yes, she could touch it, and she ran to where it lay on the table and pressed her fingertips to the star. "Wow," she said.

Tony grinned. "Okay, Pep. Let's get you some food."

Steve took the offered escape route and ducked out the door.

"Grilled cheese? Macaroni? Scrambled eggs?" Tony offered, opening the fridge. "Wait, scratch that. We don't have any bread, or eggs. Macaroni? We could go up to the roof…"

"Like a date?" Pepper asked, dumping her briefcase on a chair and smiling.

"Sure," Tony said, and smiled back.

Maybe that voice in his head had been right. Maybe, now that Pepper was here, everything would be all right.

()()()

"You won't tell them, will you?" Loki asked Bruce, who had one hand on the kitchen door.

Bruce's heart hurt for him.

"Of course not," he said, forcing a smile. Loki had pulled down his sleeves again and it unsettled Bruce, because if he had not already seen the scars, he still wouldn't have any idea they were there. "Not if you don't want me to."

Loki nodded wordlessly.

Bruce opened the door.

No one was there.

"Weird," he said."Jarvis, where is everyone?"

**Steve Rogers is two floors below us, looking out the window and brooding. Tony Stark and Miss Pepper Potts are on the roof. Unknown is beside you, if you were not aware.**

Bruce took one hand out of his pocket long enough to scratch his head, then stuck it back in. "Okay," he said. "Well, we're here, anyway. Did you try to eat anything since last time?"

Loki shook his head.

"Are you hungry?"

Loki shrugged.

Bruce smiled, knowingly. "Yes you are. Come on." He touched Loki's shoulder, pushing him ever-so-gently forward, into the kitchen, and shutting the door behind him. "No escape," Bruce said. "You want another smoothie? I dropped the last one, and I…" he lifted his foot and glanced at the bottom of his shoe. It was orange. He chuckled forcibly. "I think I stepped in it."

"That would be nice."

Bruce grinned, and ran to the fridge. "One strawberry-mango surprise, comin' right up!"

()()()

"Whoever invented Mac n' cheese," Tony said, around an obscenely large mouthful of gooey goodness, "Is a genius, and should be elected president. And if they're dead, they should be made a saint."

Pepper laughed. She was leaning against him, and their legs dangled off the edge of Stark Tower. There was no danger; if she fell, Tony would have plenty of time to press his nifty little watch, and put on his suit, and save her from imminent death. The same applied if either of them dropped their mac n' cheese.

"No, I'm serious!" Tony accidentally spit out a single noodle, and they watched it plummet over the edge and disappear. He laughed, and Pepper laughed. They had been doing a lot of laughing ever since she arrived, and it was refreshing.

"And when are you not serious?" she asked.

Tony feigned surprise, whipping his head around towards her. "Was that sarcasm? I knew you had it in you!"

"Oh, shut up." She _giggled,_ and batted him on the head like an irritated kitten batting at a piece of string.

"Did you just giggle?"

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"That's a definite yes."

Pepper rolled her eyes and took a bite of macaroni. She lasted two seconds before smiling, and three before she giggled again.

"Giggle!" Tony pointed at her accusingly. "That was a giggle."

"No." She was smiling widely, exposing pearly-white teeth.

"Yes. And you know what? It's really good to have you back. For the longest time, I didn't have anyone to make fun of."

"Ugh. I almost prefer the obnoxious people I had to sit through meetings with over you. At least they didn't make fun of my _laugh. _Oh, but you should have heard this one lady," Pepper flipped her hair to the side, launching into her story. "She laughed like a horse! She would snort, and lift her head and breathe out fast, and if something was really funny, it sounded like a neigh. Not kidding!" She protested, when Tony raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"You're gonna have to get this on video for me, missy," he said. "This is serious stuff - I can't have you going around making shit up."

"I would never."

They sat there, looking at each other, smiling, until their smiles faded into something solemn and real. Pepper averted her eyes first, turning to look at her hands, which were folded in her lap. "So," she said.

Tony shifted uncomfortably. Did she have to do this?

"You won't tell me?"

"Not right now. I'm sorry."

"Even if I wear that skimpy skirt you like?"

Tony laughed again, but swallowed it down quickly. He swung his legs, hitting his heels against the side of Stark Tower with a sound like the booming chime of a clock tower. He looked down, and the dizzying drop morphed into that nightmarish nothingness, with the blinding light of the portal diminishing, and the endlessness of space only seconds away.

He stood up quickly, backing away from the edge.

"Tony?" she turned, still sitting, and looked up at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing." He turned in a circle, exhaling slowly and looking up at the sky. It was unnaturally bright, it hurt his eyes. There was no wind, the air was heavy and hot, and it rested on his shoulders like a stifling blanket.

He turned in another circle, turned on the roof of his 50-story tall tower, and wondered how on earth his life could have turned such as quickly, only upside-down. It was a worn-out phrase, to be sure, but that was what it _felt_ like. Everything was some hideous dream, and he would wake up soon, and go back to building weapons for some stupid reason he couldn't remember, and he would never have been in Afghanistan or have fallen for Pepper or have fought a crazy, alien war, and he wouldn't have a Norse-whatever-the-fuck _god_ in his tower, because those kinds of things _didn't happen._

His life had never been normal, but it used to at least be somewhat _realistic_. Whoever controlled the universe was a sadistic bitch.

"Tony? What are you thinking about?"

He let out a short, derisive breath - an empty laugh. He faced away from her with his hands behind his head like he was being arrested, and he took random, staggering steps, staring at the sky.

What was he thinking about?

What the hell did she _think_ he was thinking about?

But maybe she didn't know. It wouldn't be surprising. After all, while Tony was barely surviving getting pummeled by giant, impossible, robot-alien-cyborgs, she was on a business trip. That was something she could do, after all, because she wasn't the one stuck with wandering, circular, terrifying thoughts, and panic attacks, and fucking _PTSD._

_But how was she supposed to know?_

_It's not as if you ever tell her anything._

Tony stopped walking, stopped moving. "You're probably tired," he said.

"It's eleven am."

"Then you're busy, or you want to talk to your friends, or you need to unpack, or something."

"It's okay if you want me to go. If you want to be alone. But just say it, if that's what you want."

He didn't mean it like that. He wasn't a child, throwing a temper tantrum and stomping to his room, yelling at anyone who tried to come in. If she wanted to stick around, he could handle it. He wasn't so fragile that he would fall apart if he didn't get his way.

"No," he said, turning around, blinking against the sunlight. and dropping his arms to his sides. "You can stay if you want to."

She smiled, briefly. "But you're right, I do need to unpack. I'll see you later. 'Kay?"

"Sure, Yeah," Tony said, as she stood and walked past him, heels clicking, with a bowl in her hands, filled with yellow residue from the plasticky cheese. She half-smiled as she passed him, flipped her hair, and disappeared down the stairs.

Five minutes later, when Jarvis's monotone voice announced, **Mrs. Pepper Potts has requested your presence in the kitchen immediately - her exact words were unrepeatable, and included a disturbing amount of death threats, **Tony knew he had made a big mistake.

()()()

"What the _fuck_!" was what Pepper said, when she walked into the kitchen and saw Loki standing there, with a glass of smoothie in his hand. She froze there, staring at him, whispering something under her breath that sounded a lot like, "What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck."

Bruce was caught like a deer in the headlights, but he quickly snapped out of it and put a hand on Loki's shoulder. "Pepper, it's okay. I'm sure Tony told you he was here. Don't worry, he won't…"

She turned towards him with a stamp of her high heel on the floor, quickly setting a bowl on the counter beside her. She almost dropped it, and it hit the counter with a thud and rolled onto its side. "He's in my kitchen!" She announced, pointing a finger at Loki, like a child tattling to its mother. "Bruce, how how _how _is he in my kitchen? Explain before I decide to throw something!"

"Tony didn't tell you he was here?"

"Apparently, Tony didn't tell me shit! Jarvis!"

**Yes, Miss Pep-**

"Tell Tony to get his ass down here so I can murder him!"

**I will tell him immediately.**

"It's really nothing to worry about," Bruce protested. He stepped forward, shielding Loki from the glare she threw in his direction. "I told you, he's not…"

"Of course it's something to worry about!"

"Going to hurt us," Bruce finished, flatly.

Loki was tense, like a mouse itching to run. Bruce didn't think Pepper could have stormed in here at a worse time. Loki had been enjoying himself, talking with Bruce, and he claimed he enjoyed the smoothie, although they apparently didn't have those on Asgard. For a few minutes, everything had been fine, but here was the universe, determined to take their "fine," crumple it up, and burn it in a bonfire the size of Tony's Tower.

She had a purse slung over her shoulder, and she brandished it threateningly by the strap. Bruce wasn't sure which one of them she was threatening, because she was glaring daggers at them both. "Right. You." She looked at him. "You better explain what the hell is going on before I whip this thing across your face. And his face. So spill."

He held his hands up, palms facing her. "Okay. You need to calm down. Look. He's not hurting anybody, he's just having lunch. Let's all have lunch, and Tony'll come down here and tell you everything. You should hear it from him - you were supposed to hear it from him. We can both assault him with purses for that. Okay? Calm down."

"That's Loki."

"I know."

"He's dangerous."

"No, he's…"

Bruce was cut off when Loki stepped forward, still cradling his smoothie in his hands. He was so different, Bruce knew Pepper could not deny he had changed. She hadn't been there to see him, five days ago. Her only knowledge of him was through news reports and sparse conversations with Tony. But the difference was still there, it was striking, and she wouldn't be able to ignore it.

"I do not know you," Loki said. His voice was hoarse, and he might be playing it up, but Bruce wouldn't blame him. "But I swear, I will not hurt you." He smiled faintly. "I do not think I could."

"His magic is suppressed," Bruce explained, when she glanced at him skeptically, still holding tightly to her purse. "And he is in no condition to fight. I'm a doctor, trust me."

He didn't want to hurt Loki's pride, but there wasn't time to worry about that. Sure, Pepper might be joking, but if she actually hit Loki with a heavy purse, it would mess him up. And besides, Bruce didn't want Loki to get hurt. At all.

Bruce put his hand on Loki's shoulder, protectively, silently saying, "Don't you fucking dare." Pepper stared at him, and at Loki, and at Bruce's hand.

Then Tony appeared in the doorway, gasping for breath. "Pepper! Don't… it's… he's…"

They waited as he struggled to regain his breath, almost comically. Bruce did not remove his hand from Loki's shoulder, and Loki did not push it away.

"Look, I'm sorry," Tony said, quickly, but keeping his distance in case Pepper decided to whack him. With the air of someone used to having to explain what they were sorry for, he continued. "Because I should have told you, and I shouldn't have lied to you, and..

"No shit!" She cried. "Tony!" She said his name as if she couldn't quite believe he was the one who had done this to her - who had lied so cruelly - and she didn't want to believe it.

He grabbed her hand. "I'll explain, okay? Alone? Please?"

She nodded, pulled her hand away, and walked ahead of him out of the kitchen with a flip of her blonde ponytail, purse swinging from her arm.

Only when the door had closed behind them, and the distant sound of heels on wood and Tony's frantic attempts to get a word in edgewise had faded away, did Bruce relax, and remove his hand from Loki's shoulder.

Loki took a sip of smoothie through the straw, licked his lips, and said, "She seems like a nice woman."

Bruce was so surprised by the sudden display of sarcasm that he laughed much too loudly. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand - He hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, had he?

"She really is, once you get to know her," he said.

"And as long as you aren't a murderer," Loki muttered.

"Then you should be fine." Bruce didn't think about whether his words were true, didn't want to question if one of the requirements for being a murderer was that you had _wanted_ to do it, for if it wasn't, that would make Bruce a murderer, too. He didn't want to be. He wanted to save lives, not take them.

Bruce had discovered, long ago, that you don't get everything you want.

Loki took another sip. "I like it here. I don't want to go back in the hospital room."

"You don't have to, if you don't want to. You can sleep in a guest room, too. They have comfy beds. And if you want, you could get some new clothes, so you don't have to wear the same ones every day."

Loki glanced down at his shirt. "I wasn't wearing this when I arrived," he said, as if realizing it for the first time. He didn't sound like he cared, only like he was merely making an observation, stating a fact.

"Yeah," Bruce said. "Your other ones were… pretty bloody. These are Steve's, cause he's the only one as tall as you." _And when you arrived, he was the only one who cared enough to give you new clothes so you wouldn't have to sleep in your own dried blood._

Loki grunted in acknowledgement. He paused, then said, "That was kind. On Asgard, a warrior's armor and clothing is a sign of his status, and would not be so freely given to another."

"It's different here. Although, yes, it was still very nice of him. But here, clothes are just pieces of fabric. I guess it's weird for you here, everything must seem so strange."

"Not overly. I have read many books about Midgard."

"Still."

"Yes."

"Do you want to go home?"

Loki smiled, and it was not an empty smile, there was humor there, although Bruce hadn't said anything funny. "I have Asgard, I have Jotunheim, I have Thanos' army, and… I have this place, this Tower. None of them would I consider home, but if I could somehow mend them, and piece them together, I suppose that could be enough of a home to make me want to go back, to wherever it would be." He smile faded. "But not even magic has that power. And I - without magic - would not have a fraction of a chance. Even if I could go back to Asgard, or Jotunheim, or…" he shook his head, as if to clear it. "Even if I could, and they would let me live, much less accept me as one of their own, how can I get there without magic?"

"It was a bad question."

"No. It was kind of you to ask. To wonder."

Bruce fidgeted, picking at his nails. He should have wondered earlier - hell, he should have wondered five days ago. He should have immediately questioned all this. All people were real people, all villains had a motive, because this was real life, not a fucking movie. But no, Thor had come down - who _was_ Thor, anyway? - told them his little brother was crazy, and yeah, Bruce believed it. He never questioned, and he never felt bad for throwing Loki into the ground over and over, even though he _always_ felt bad when he hurt anyone as the Hulk.

If Loki hadn't shown up with blood-gushing, undeniable wounds, Bruce would never have known, never have wondered, and Loki would be in prison for a crime he never wanted to commit, or back with Thanos…

Loki would have so many more scars.

How much suffering did it take to injure someone not only physically, but mentally, as well? How many times had Thanos bruised him, beaten him, cut him, and how long had it taken for that to scar him so deeply inside, so that when he was finally free from pain, he had immediately taken a piece of glass and given himself more?

Bruce had never felt such an overwhelming sense of protection before. Sure, there were his patients, but he always tried to remain distant, to see them as statistics and numbers, so if they died, he wouldn't die along with them. But Loki was different. Bruce didn't know why. If he thought too much about it, he would never come up with any answers, he would go insane. He was dealing with emotions, the messiest parts of life - there were no statistics, no numbers, no answers, but Bruce hoped to death that Loki would stay alive. He would do everything in his power, absolutely everything, to ensure that he would.

After all, only a few inches lower, and he might have cut his wrists, and succeeded in doing what Bruce had failed to do all those years ago.

He was like morning fog, fading before their eyes.

Bruce crossed his arms tightly. Breathe breathe breathe _breathe, _slowly, that's it, god he needed coffee. Or something.

"Where is your room?" Loki asked, out of nowhere. His glass was empty, his long, pale fingers wrapped around it tightly. His eyes were fixed on the window at the other side of the room, through which Bruce could see nothing but a blank slate of white, and a few slashes of pale blue. It was all saturated with bright sunlight, and it made him blink. He hadn't gone outside in a while, had he? His eyes were accustomed to the dark.

"Floor… something," he said. "I'd know if I saw the buttons on the elevator, I think. A row up from the bottom, on the right. Third room."

"Do you like it here?"

"Yes. Yeah. I mean, there's a swimming pool. What's not to love?"

A smile tugged on Loki's lips. Bruce wasn't sure if it made it to his eyes for a moment, or if it fizzled out prematurely. "I am tired," he said, setting his glass on the counter and fumbling for a hold on its edge.

Bruce grabbed his elbow to steady him.

Loki waved a hand at him. "No need."

"Yes, need," Bruce said, stubbornly. "Come on, I'll help you. Lean on me."

"No."

"I'll help you."

"No!" Loki whirled on him, eyes full of venom, and wrenched his arm away. "Do not touch me. I am not an invalid. I am not a child. I can walk," his voice was fiery, red hot with anger. He let go of the counter, head held high, and walked out of the kitchen. There was no sign that it caused him any pain, although Bruce was sure it did.

Bruce hesitated.

"Jarvis? Tell me if he leaves his room?" Bruce whispered.

**Yes, sir. If Unknown exits the hospital room, I will inform you.** Jarvis spoke loudly, and Bruce winced. If Loki heard, there was no sign. Then he rounded a corner and was gone.

Bruce dropped his head into his hands, and opened his eyes in the comforting darkness, opened his eyes on grey blurs and the lines on his hands, jagged like a child had drawn them.

Then he exhaled deeply, five times. It didn't work - the air shuddered in his lungs like it was cold. He took his hands away, and looked up at the ceiling. Counted to two as he inhaled, six as he exhaled, over and over until his breaths weren't shaky.

But he didn't waste much time there. "Jarvis?" he asked. "Where's Steve? Quickly - tell him he has to go be with Loki. He can't leave Loki alone. Don't let him."

**I will try my best, Dr. Banner, but I do not have the ability to restrict Steve Rogers from doing anything he does not wish to do.**

Bruce covered his mouth with his hand, leaning heavily on the counter. "Don't you dare let him leave Loki alone. Do you hear me? Don't you dare."


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry for the late chapter… I'll try not to do that again. And I'd like to thank giraffeinpajamas, because your review was pretty much the only reason I finally got my ass in line and posted this, lol._

_And thanks to DocWordsmith for beta reading!_

**()()()**

Loki made it ten steps before he staggered and fell hard against the wall. Pain shot up his arm, and he bit down on his lip or his cheek - he wasn't sure - but it hurt, and closed his eyes and fought against the scream that lay waiting in his throat, poised to spring.

Stupid, stupid imbecile of an ant.

_You should have let him help you._

No. No! Loki had pride again - why would he throw it away so soon? Besides, Bruce… no, Banner - Banner was an idiot. Midgard was truly a crude society, if they had ever allowed him to be a doctor. All he was good for was lumbering about, cross-eyed, and punching at things with his tree-trunk arms like some dumb beast. On Asgard, they would hitch him up to a cart and have him pull it. That was _all _he was good for.

Loki remained leaning against the wall, listening to the sound of his own ragged breathing and hating it. He was healed now, and sane, so why did nothing feel right? It should feel like it had before he ever fell.

He didn't remember what that had felt like.

He was _sane _now. The fracture in his mind had been stitched back together. Why couldn't he remember?

Loki's hands hurt. He opened them and stared at the red crescent moons in his palms, like the night sky of some distant planet, pale white and dotted with scarlet.

_Do you see now? How you lie to yourself? You are even more insane than you were before._

No no no _no. _Loki tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled. He didn't know why he did that, because he didn't want pain, but he did it anyway until it stabbed through his skull and he couldn't think.

_Stop!_

_Please, stop._

He glared at the hallway, imagining that it was the pathetic, tremoring voice in his head. Stop what? He had done nothing wrong. He was Loki Odinson, and he was innocent. He never deserved a jail cell and he would not receive one, he never deserved pain and he would have no more, soon. So soon.

_Stop it._

_You have to stop._

_I'm suffocating._

_I don't want to die._

And he heard it, in his mind, horrible, rasping sobs. Sobs like whoever was making them couldn't get enough air in their lungs, sobs that came in short gasps, cut off early and stitched together. Stilted, stuttered, torn. Loki couldn't bear to listen to them.

He pushed them away into the back of his mind, and there they curled up in the darkness, hugging their knees, and cried, and cried for centuries in the endless dark.

()()()

Loki was sitting on the hospital bed, staring blankly at nothing. He hugged his arms tightly to his chest, and his fists were clenched, but he didn't know if anything hurt.

Someone knocked on the door. "Hey? You in there?" They called. It was not Banner.

Was he happy or sad about that? He didn't know. He couldn't tell.

"Yes," he said.

"Can you come downstairs?" The handle turned, and Loki tensed as the door opened. It was Rogers, with his shield strapped to his back.

"Yes," Loki said, staring at him. He looked uncertain, but curious. Loki hated that curiosity. He was not a creature, he was not a specimen or an experiment. They all looked at him like he was a math problem to be solved, and he hated that glint in their eyes.

"Good," Rogers said. He seemed like he didn't know what to do with the size of his own body - he bumped his shoulder against the doorframe, and one foot hid behind the other, on its toes. "They're waiting for you in the living room, because we're all supposed to talk. Pepper wants us to talk."

Loki did not want to go, but it wasn't as if he could refuse. He had to make them trust him, and Midgardians found talking to be an acceptable way of proving trust. They did not have enough years stored up in their lives to wait for the other person to painstakingly prove that trust until it was beyond contention - no, they had to rely on empty words, or their would spend their lives waiting for those words to be filled.

Rogers stood aside as Loki walked through the door, with his chin high. He hair was not so stringy now that Banner had washed it, and it fell around his face, offering a bit of shelter. Normally he would have slicked it back, but he did not want to now.

They walked into the elevator. Loki supposed, that in order to get him to the hospital room yesterday, Rogers must have brought him in this elevator. Probably carrying him. Loki's jaw clenched at the thought.

"These are your clothes?" He asked, as Rogers pressed the button.

He looked up, briefly. "Yeah," he said, and glanced away again.

"Thank you." Loki almost gagged on the words - thanking an ant - but it was necessary. All four people had to trust him, and they all had to agree to remove the bracelets, or at least allow him out of his room at night undetected, so he could find a knife somewhere. He was good with knives.

A woman's weapon, they had called it - Sif's three brutish friends. Was it any wonder, then, that women lived longer than men?

_Don't do it. Don't do it - you _can't.

It was irritating; the voice kept returning and shouting in his ear. Buzzing like an insect. Never saying anything useful, just the most senseless, pitiful things.

The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. There was a dent in them, left by the Hulk's fist. Rogers walked through, stepping in perfect time, and Loki followed.

Too quickly, they reached a dimly lit room, with a TV on the wall, and Stark, Potts, and Banner sitting on a couch. There was a window. Blue sky. Always blue.

"Come on," Rogers murmured, in Loki's ear. Loki blinked instead of flinching. "They don't bite."

Loki raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, Dasher!" Stark raised a hand in greeting. His arm was around Potts, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"He means you," Rogers explained, as if Loki didn't know.

Banner's eyes were on Loki, desperately wanting him to meet them. He looked like a pathetic teenage girl fawning after a boy, throwing herself at his feet in an attempt to be noticed. It was stupid, because he needed Banner's trust, but Loki did not meet his eyes.

He already had his trust, anyway. Banner had poured his heart out to him. Loki had that now, ready for the breaking.

Rogers sat beside Banner. Loki sat in the middle, between Potts and Rogers, far from both of them. The couch was comfortable, and he sunk into the cushions. Perhaps he was thin enough that he could lose himself in them.

He still didn't meet Banner's eyes. "Loki…" Banner said.

He ignored it.

_Don't._

_Let me out! Let me talk to him, please!_

Loki closed his eyes, trying to beat it back into its shadowed corner like a rabid animal, lying there, ragged and half-dead.

_You're hurting me._

_Stop, stop please, it hurts. I can't see._

But Loki didn't feel any pain. And Loki could see perfectly well. Potts' eyes, wide, clueless. Stark was holding her hand, and attempting to hide his emotions, but Loki could see contentment in the way he held her, and it disgusted him that he could be content at a time like this. Rogers looked concerned, caring, and that was more disgusting. Loki did not look at Banner. He looked out the window and saw blue sky.

_I want to see it!_

_Why can't I see it?_

It was amusing, this voice's desperate cries. For once, someone was more desolate than Loki. For once. It made him feel superior, so he did not cast the voice away.

"So," Stark began, idiotically.

Oh, yes. Why was he here again? Were they waiting for him to speak?

He would apologize. They would trust him if he apologized. And Loki was too afraid of Thanos to consider his pride for even a moment. Everything was so much easier now that he knew the truth.

He stood, and turned, and they sat before him like they were his subjects. He was above them, standing tall, head held high, and oh, how he had missed this. He nearly threw his arms up, nearly let a grin split his face in two. Just like New York.

_Just like losing._

_You'll lose._

_I think you've already lost._

I don't care what you think.

He looked Rogers in the eyes, because his were the easiest to meet, and said, "I'm going to apologize. To all of you. Because I…"

Rogers held up a hand. "But you did nothing wrong," he interrupted.

Loki caught a coded glance between Stark and Potts. He didn't look at Banner. He sucked in a breath, irritated, and continued as if Rogers had never spoken. "...Need to find a way to relieve this guilt," (as if) "and I need to right all the wrongs I've done to you." (Such a blatant lie that it was amusing.)

They blinked, all of them, like a row of startled pigeons.

He had expected an outburst, or an embarrassing display of attempted comfort. Not silence.

()()()

"_Sorry, Thor! I'm sorry!" Loki squeaked - a child of one hundred and eighty years, hair short and wild around his head, cheeks pale as snow. He held two pieces of a broken spear in his hands - a magnificent spear, although short. Bronze, with a dark metal end, that reflected the light of the stars brighter than they shone it down upon Asgard._

_He and Thor were alone in the courtyard, and they were supposed to be training, but Thor had thrown a spear at Loki and Loki hadn't been paying attention, and all he saw was something coming quickly out of the corner of his eye so he threw out his hand and magic flew from his fingertips and snapped the spear in half like it was a tree branch._

_Thor ran across the courtyard and wrenched the pieces out of Loki's hands. It had been his favorite spear._

"_I'm sorry!" Loki cried, grabbing Thor's forearm desperately. He used to care so much about what Thor thought of him. About Thor._

_Kind, sweet little child, don't ever grow up. _

_But Thor did not respond to his pleads. He jerked his arm from Loki's grasp, turned on his heel, and marched away with his broken spear's pieces dangling from each hand, swaying like a pendulum, counting the seconds._

_That innocent child that was Loki watched him go, and only called after him once. _

()()()

"So, I'm sorry," Loki said.

The cries of a long-forgotten child echoed through his mind but he could not place them, and they must have been part of the voice, so he brushed them aside.

He swallowed thickly. Something was stuck in his throat.

Why wouldn't they speak? Were they trying to humiliate him?

"For New York," he said. "For the dead. Your friends. The destruction of your city, and any other toll, or pain, or price, I am sorry for it all."

Why were his eyes hot? Why was the light from the window blurred? He wasn't sad; what was wrong with him? He wasn't sorry, he was lying, spilling empty words from his lips. It all meant nothing, so why was he on the verge of tears?

"Thank you," Rogers said. "But you have nothing to be sorry for."

"Yeah, thanks," Stark said. "I think we all forgive you. I do."

"I forgive you, too," Banner's voice was a whisper, and Loki did not look at him.

He stared blankly at the wall behind the couch. What was he supposed to do now? Would they offer to remove the bracelets that bound his magic, or would he have to ask? He didn't know if they would agree to do it yet, and he wanted to get the timing right. He couldn't mess this up.

"Hey, wanna sit down? We've got some down time, I think. We could watch a move?" Stark said. He pulled his arm away from Potts and clapped his hands together. "I could make popcorn! I haven't had popcorn in _forever._"

"Tony, control yourself," Steve said, glancing at him and smiling.

Like the worst kind of espionage - a spy, dining with those he knew would be dead shortly, because of his betrayal. Necessary, of course, necessary, and it wasn't as if Loki cared about these ants.

_An arm around his shoulders, holding him in place so he couldn't fall._

"_You're good, you're good."_

_Soft voice, anchoring voice._

_Blood running in scarlet rows._

Loki blinked and it was gone. "Okay," he said, because spending time with them would help him gain their trust.

He sat beside Rogers, feeling ridiculously small compared to him. But there was no point in sitting so far away. It would not help him complete his mission. It would not help him to live.

_What's the point in living like this?_

Stark held a remote and flipped through different screens. "Netflix? A movie? Or, it could always be fun to play Mario Kart with a Norse god. That's something off my bucket list."

Loki didn't realize Stark was asking him until all their heads turned in his direction, obviously waiting. "I do not care," he waved a hand, dismissively. "I don't know what any of those things mean." It was a lie; he knew what a movie was.

"Would you like to do something else?" Rogers asked, not unkindly, and without attempting to touch Loki. "There's a bowling alley in here somewhere - Jesus, Tony - and he has some books, but not many, and a pool."

At the thought of swimming, Loki folded his arms tightly to his chest.

"Also," Stark added. "There are a million other, awesome things, such as a ball pit. And one of those shitty, but strangely epic, trampolines. Also I have some swanky cars, but you can't drive them. You could ride shotgun, though. I have a Lamborghini." He cleared his throat. "And a Ferrari. So."

Potts laughed. "Tony! You're so annoying."

"My specialty," Stark said.

"He isn't lying," Rogers said, smiling.

Abruptly, Banner stood. Caught off guard, Loki glanced at him, but Banner's eyes were on the ground. His arms were crossed tightly, his shoulders hunched. "I'm going to my room," he said, leaving the room quickly. His footsteps faded.

_Bring him back._

_I want him to come back._

Loki's fingers tightened around the couch cushion. Go away go away. He couldn't live like this. He wanted to live, but this felt like being cut in two all over again.

_Broken._

No.

Never that.

Loki pushed the voice away, but it took more effort this time, and he knew it wouldn't last long. He dug his nails into his palms even though he didn't want pain.

"Is he okay?" Stark asked, jabbing his thumb towards the doorway Banner had disappeared through.

Rogers shrugged.

"Movie?" Stark offered.

No one replied.

"Kay then. Movie it is."

()()()

Bruce didn't know how a tower could be fifty stories tall and still be so _stifling._

He opened the window in his room and stuck his head out and inhaled sharply when he saw the drop below because he had never liked heights, before he was able to concentrate on the city traffic, the pedestrians, the thunder of noise and the acrid smell of smoke. It made him feel better, watching small people doing small things. Going shopping, crossing the street, honking at other cars. So mundane that he missed it.

He rested his elbows on the window frame, dropped his chin into his hands, and watched the world go by.

But _it _was somewhere within him, restless, like someone turning in their sleep. The distant, huge thing, the monster, the roar. He could feel it, a gnawing presence, existing _enormously. _Like he was wearing clothes that were twenty sizes too small.

He imagined that he had felt more emotion in the past twenty-four hours than he had in years. It wasn't anger, so the Hulk didn't emerge, but it was strong, almost touchable, tangible, hanging there in the air. It settled on every part of him like birds on an electric wire. And so the Hulk was always there, a blurred, undeniable presence in the back of his mind, wanting to step out.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the smoggy air, breathed deeply.

He understood why Tony had remained in his room for so long. Bruce didn't want to leave. For a million reasons he couldn't name, he didn't ever want to leave.

Was he a doctor if his patient couldn't stand to look at him? If he had pushed too far, treated him like a child, touched him too much, even though he _knew _Loki was fragile and didn't want to be touched - and now Bruce couldn't even help him, despite being the only one in the whole world who knew all of what was wrong - was he a doctor then? Did he deserve to be?

A pigeon landed on a nearby windowsill in a bluster of feathers, cooing, wide-eyed. It cocked its head at Bruce.

"Hi." Bruce said. "Do you know what I should do? And if you do know, can you quickly learn English so you can tell me?"

He laughed aloud and rubbed his eyes with his hands. He was _so damn tired._

The pigeon flew away.

But, after a few minutes, staring out the window grew boring. Bruce needed to stay occupied or he would think, and he would feel all those thousands of emotions, buffeting him with their fists, like they were poking an angry beast with a sharp stick. Making the Hulk roar and pound his chest.

Bruce folded his arms tightly. Like when Tony had hugged him, if he hugged himself with his arms, maybe that would keep the Other Guy at bay.

It didn't work like that.

He knew it didn't.

He tried anyway. He hugged himself so tightly that it hurt his ribs. He turned away from the window and leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, clutching his shoulders.

_Don't touch_ _me!_

He wanted to help so badly. He wanted to hug Loki so tightly… so tightly that whatever monster roared within him could never, ever come out. Bruce hugged himself, and something ached deep in his bones, something other than the Hulk's pounding fists, because he wanted it so much.

But he couldn't yet. Loki needed time.

Bruce would wait until their movie ended, and then he would go back, and he would apologize to Loki and he wouldn't hug him, no matter how badly he wished he could.

()()()

Tony considered putting on Sleeping Beauty, but reconsidered when he remembered the scene with the dragon that had given him nightmares as a child. Sure, Loki was thousands of years old, but there was no need to scare him, if he was prone to getting scared. Tony didn't want to trigger anything,

So Tony put on Beauty and the Beast, and when Pepper complained into his ear, he told her to suck it up. Then he went and made popcorn, individual bowls of it for each of them.

"Have you had this?" He asked, as he handed one to Loki.

Loki picked up a piece and examined it. "No."

"It's good. It's popcorn."

Loki nodded but didn't eat.

Tony plopped back down next to Pepper. As always, Belle was captured, and as always, she got a healthy dose of Stockholm syndrome and fell in love with a creature that was definitely not human, which always raised a few questions. Tony was pretty sure he fell asleep during most of it. Halfway through, his head was suddenly on Pepper's shoulder.

By the time the movie ended, Loki's bowl of popcorn was empty, aside from a few popped kernels and a smear of butter.

Tony smiled to himself.

And glanced at his own bowl, and in the dark, he swore it shone with the shimmer of light on water, rippling as his hands shook around the edge.

He set it on the floor.

Finally, the two lovebirds snogged it out, and the beast transformed into a handsome prince, and all was well.

"Did you like it?" Tony heard Steve ask, quietly. He glanced over and Steve was leaning close to Loki, but not touching him, and Loki's knees were still drawn up to his chest.

Loki didn't reply, and Tony wondered, if he didn't like it, why didn't he ask Tony to turn it off?

He thought he already knew the answer. He tried not to think about it, but it was _sickening._

He felt for Pepper's hand and squeezed it. Let go, switched off the TV, stood up, stretched. He yawned, majestically, like one of those glorious pictures of those lions, where their tongues hang out all floppy and they look hilarious.

"Board game, anyone?" he asked, gesturing towards nothing in particular. "I think I've got Sorry, and Mouse Trap, and… that's it. Also Uno, but that's cards. Anyone? Going once, going twice, going…"

"Tony," Steve interrupted. He pointed at Loki. "I think he might be asleep." He smiled, fondly, and reached out and brushed a piece of Loki's hair back with his finger. Sure enough, Loki's eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling evenly. His cheek was smushed against the cushion and it made Tony smile in a way that matched Steve's.

"What? Beauty and the Beast not thrilling enough for him?" he asked. He cracked his knuckles. Steve glared at him. "Sorry, sorry. But my fingers were tingling!"

"You should both shut up and let him rest," Pepper murmured. She sounded sleepy, and her eyes were half shut.

"Ooh! We could all have naptime!" Tony cried.

"_Tony_," both Pepper and Steve whispered. Pepper put her finger over her lips.

"Sorry," Tony muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. We could all have naptime," he said, at a moderate volume.

Pepper raised an eyebrow, then she held out her arm, beckoning him to come closer. Tony grinned and fell into the couch beside her. He stroked her hair. She smelled like something faint and vaguely sweet. She kissed him on the cheek, rested her head on his shoulder, and promptly fell asleep.

()()()

Steve would have left, because it was awkward to be the only awake person in the room besides Tony and Pepper who were currently making out (he assumed they were, but he sure as hell wasn't going to check), but he was too fascinated by the calmness that radiated from Loki while he was sleeping - the relaxed, unlined forehead, the way his hair fell slightly over his cheek like crow feathers, the fluttering of his eyelids.

Steve took a strand of Loki's hair and wrapped it around his finger.

He had never been a touch person. But when he loved someone, like Peggy, or Bucky, sure, he would hug them, wrap an arm around their shoulders. He only touched people to give them some comfort, not because _he_ liked it, overly. Peggy and Bucky weren't here, and they never would be. But he found himself stroking Loki's hair. Gently, ever so gently, because Steve would hate himself if he woke him up. He picked up pieces of dark hair and let them go, and it was calming, like polishing his shield.

"I know the feeling," Tony said. Steve looked up, and Pepper was quite clearly asleep, leaning against him. He thought he could hear faint snoring. Tony glanced at the ceiling, as if he could find the right words there. Then he looked back at Steve. "It's like, you want to make him feel better so bad, and you want to - I don't know - hug him, or put a hand on his shoulder, and you always want that even though you don't usually with other people."

"But when he's awake, he won't allow it," Steve said, softly, tangling his fingers in some of the longer hair from the side of Loki's head. It was cut choppily, all of it, and there were sections of long and sections of short.

"Yeah. I…" Tony broke off. He glanced down at Pepper. "Sorry, babe," he muttered. Steve wasn't sure who he was speaking to, because Pepper couldn't hear him, and neither of the other people present were Tony's "babe." Tony grunted, shifting, supporting her head with his hand and resting it gently on the couch. "There you go," he said, when she murmured softly in sleep, and settled back into snoring.

Tony plopped himself down on the other side of Loki, opposite Steve, with one foot resting on his knee, tapping at the air. He grinned, sheepishly. "What? It's kind of adorable - him sleeping." Experimentally, Tony picked up a piece of Loki's hair and twirled it, copying Steve. "You're just a muscly bear with a huge heart, aren't you?" he asked Steve. "Playing with his hair and all that. It's cute." Tony was smiling.

Steve smiled in return. "I guess I am. Hey, wait, are you…?" Steve accidentally laughed loudly.

Tony was braiding a thin piece of Loki's hair. "What? It'll be a good look for him. I'm doing charity work, honestly, because his hair is such a mess right now. Do you know any hairdressers?"

"No. Only ones from the forties."

Tony chuckled. "That would be a sight to see. Loki in Victory Rolls? Can you imagine?"

Peggy had worn those, once. Two huge curls, pinned to the top of her head.

"No," Steve said, because all he could imagine was Peggy. Was it only three weeks ago that he had seen her last? He knew there were seventy years in between, but he hadn't felt them. All he had felt were the three weeks, the most painful of his life. It was fading now, already. Sometimes he forgot the sound of her voice.

He took a piece of Loki's hair, separated it into three, and began to braid. He watched Tony, and learned from there, but his braid still came out all uneven, like a wandering road. It was bigger, too - while Tony's was the size of a piece of string, Steve's was flatter, and messier.

"A super soldier, braiding hair," Tony shook his head. "Life is a beautiful thing."

They kept braiding until there were little string-like strands interspersed throughout Loki's choppy haircut. Steve improved quickly, and soon his braids were as neat as Tony's. When they were done, he felt calm, like he had come out of a deep meditation. Then they both settled back on the couch, and the only sound was Pepper's soft snores.

Before long, Tony was asleep, too. His arm draped over the back of the couch, his legs spread crazily, hair flattened against the couch cushion, the back sticking up. Steve was the only one left awake, but it was nice to watch them sleep. Peaceful, the slow rising and falling of their chests as they breathed.

The last person he had watched sleep had been Bucky. He had been drunk, and he had fallen asleep on the sidewalk outside the bar, with a bottle in his hand. Steve had laughed affectionately when he saw him - "_I wondered where you'd gone, dummy" - _turned him over, and shook him. Bucky's head lolled back and forth, but eventually he woke up, blinking, and grinned when he saw it was Steve.

"_Hey, big guy."_

"_Hey yourself. You fell asleep."_

"_I know."_

"_That was dumb. You could have gotten mugged."_

"_No. Not me."_

Then they staggered to Bucky's apartment.. Well, Bucky did most of the staggering, and Steve provided a shoulder for him to lean on. He remembered brown hair, tickling his forehead. A damp spot where Bucky had spilled beer on his shirt. Laughter, raucous laughter, at something one of them had said, trailed after them through the dark streets. The street lamps flickering, wet pavement, the trickle of rain off roofs.

Alcohol on Bucky's breath, warm in his ear. Steve could almost _smell_ it. Could almost feel his arm around Bucky's shoulders, hear his voice. The warmth radiating from both of their bodies - while the air was so cold. But the memory might have mutated - was that really Bucky's voice he heard, or some version of Tony's? Did he see Bucky's face in his mind, or was it the face of a nameless someone he had seen walking on the sidewalk?

Steve ran his hand through Loki's hair. There was a painful ache in his chest. Missing. Longing. Wanting.

Sometimes, he wished the serum had taken his ability to feel emotion, along with everything else it had stolen from him.

Beneath his hand, Loki stiffened. Steve quickly pulled his hand away. Loki shifted, straightening. He pressed a hand to his head, where Steve's hand had been, and his eyes darted wildly around the room before landing on Steve.

"Hey," Steve said. "You fell asleep."

A few thin braids fell over Loki's face. He brushed them aside, paused, brought them to his eyes and stared at them. "What is this?"

"We took the, um, liberty of braiding your hair. If you don't don't like them we can help you take them out."

Loki tucked his hair behind his ears. "No need. It is fine." He kept glancing all over the room, quickly, like a mouse, like he was checking the exits. Not once did his eyes or his face give any sign of what he was thinking.

Was it actually fine, or did Loki not feel safe in voicing his opinion? Steve knew what torture could do to a person. He had seen it in Bucky. All the brightness of him - his laughter, his great, philosophical observations, the emotions in his eyes that were always louder than his words, or the crazy things he used to do like climbing on tables or dancing or falling head over heels in love - had all been washed out to the whites and blacks of a newspaper. Dimmed, made into mere facts and dullness and statistics. No color, no life.

It wasn't like Bucky had never laughed, in the short time Steve had with him between his capture and his fall. But when he did, it was soaked through with memories and pain. It was a laugh that made you wince.

Since Loki arrived, Steve had not heard him laugh once.

He wondered what it would sound like. If it would sound like Bucky's had.

"If you didn't like the movie," Steve said. "You could have asked for a different one. One that wouldn't make you fall asleep."

Loki's eyes darted to him. "It was acceptable."

Steve couldn't tell if he was lying. But it was only a movie, it didn't matter. Much.

"Do you know what's up with Bruce?" As soon as Loki had entered the living room, Steve had noticed something off between him and Bruce. He thought that was the reason Bruce had left.

"No," Loki said.

"Sure?"

Loki's eyes narrowed, then dropped to his hands. In the light from the television screen, his skin glowed light blue, like the sky outside. It threw the sharp lines of his face into clear focus, and shadow. His lips were chapped, chewed. Steve's shirt was big on him, the sleeves slipping over his hands.

He was so different from the Loki of five days ago, that Steve must have been remembering wrong. Maybe the ice had frozen his brain. That was more likely than this Loki being the same one who had led the Chitauri army. Steve would never have braided that Loki's hair.

"Thank you again for the clothes," Loki said.

"No problem. First thing Tony did when I got here was drag me around to every store in New York, shopping for clothes. There's plenty where those came from."

"How did you get here?"

Steve looked at him, and waited until Loki met his eyes. "I crashed my plane into ice. I was frozen for seventy years, and I woke up three weeks ago. SHIELD found me - SHIELD finds everybody - and Tony let me stay here in his tower because he's a great guy. Not the most riveting story, I know," he smiled, crookedly. "Still freaks me out sometimes to think that I'm 98, if I'm honest."

"I am more than two thousand years old."

"So I've heard."

"I lost count a long time ago. I don't know the exact number."

"Really?"

"Yes. Although I think it's around 2100. Somewhere."

And they continued to talk, and it was easy to talk to Loki. It seemed like they both wanted to learn more about each other, to converse away the hours in each other's company. Loki told him stories of Asgard - great battles, and many-legged horses, and other races like elves (_elves_ were a real thing, apparently). And in return, Steve told him much more ordinary, dull stories of war and black and white movies, of a woman with Victory Rolls piled on top of her head, of a scrawny younger self who wanted so badly to join the army, and his best friend. All the things he missed most were now preserved in Loki's immortal mind, if he was truly listening.

It did not escape him that Loki avoided talking about Thor, or any of his family or friends. That was okay. Steve didn't talk about his parents either. And when he talked about Peggy or Bucky, he only mentioned them briefly. He didn't tell Loki about Peggy's beautiful, red-lipped smile. He didn't tell Loki about Bucky's haunted one.

When Loki was telling about the vast library of the Asgardian palace, his face suddenly fell and he went quiet.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked.

"I wish I had my magic," he said softly, tugging on his sleeves, eyes fixed on his hands. "Even just a small amount. I feel so useless. I used to… I used to play tricks on my brother with it, make images in the air to frighten him when he rounded a corner, or use it to change the color of his hair. And I could use it to make a glamour to hide the bags under my eyes, or to make me appear taller and confident. But now I feel so weak. Exposed. I hate it."

"Most people don't have magic, but they have to make do. You'll figure it out." Steve was not good at giving advice, but he tried his best. He could sympathize; going from infinite power at your fingertips to none at all must feel like a bitch. He guessed that if the serum suddenly stopped working and he went back to his scrawny younger self, that was how he would feel. "I wish you could have it, too. But Tony told us it was too dangerous, that it would explode or something. Probably a big enough explosion to kill you."

Sadness flickered across Loki's eyes before burning out. "But I wish I could have it, just the same." His voice was flat, without any liking or wanting or wishing, just blankness, like his eyes.

Nothing wrong with that. Steve felt like that too, sometimes, like he wanted to be hidden, to be blank. Wasn't that why he wore a mask when he fought?

There was a footstep behind them. Loki and Steve both turned to look.

"Sorry. Sorry," Bruce stammered. He had a bowl in his hands, with vanilla ice cream in it, striped with chocolate syrup. "I wanted to… apologize. To you." he was looking only at Loki. "I'm really sorry for upsetting you. I won't touch you anymore. Or treat you like a child. You're not a child." He walked closer, but stopped a distance from the couch, holding the bowl out like a peace offering. "Please? I brought you ice cream. If you want it. You didn't have any last time, but it's good."

A braid slipped from behind Loki's ear as he dipped his head, and the blue shifted with his skin, otherworldly. He blinked, but it was longer than a blink normally was. Steve was sure, almost sure, that his lips were moving, but no words were coming out. He looked frozen. Ice.

"Loki?" Bruce asked, hesitantly. "Is he…" he went to set the bowl on the table but dropped it on its side with a sound that made Steve flinch. Ice cream spilled out. "Shit," Bruce said, quickly righting it, and putting a hand over his mouth. "I can't hold my fucking hands still." He took a shaky breath.

"Loki?" Steve asked, moving to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch him," Bruce said. He circled the couch and knelt in front of Loki. "Unless he says you can."

"What happened to make him angry at you?"

"Not now." Bruce's eyes flashed with annoyance, and shone blue in the light. "Hey, Loki? It's okay. Breathe. I'm… Steve's here. And Tony's there next to you, and… fuck. _Tony._" Bruce shook Tony's shoulder. "Tony, Jesus Christ, now is not the time… fucking wake up!" Bruce sounded desperate. "I can't… shit, what are we gonna…"

"Bruce," Steve warned.

"I know. I _know!_" Bruce wrapped himself in his arms and hunched over in the dark, eyes on the ground. "Fuck. I'm not even angry. It just hurts."

Steve thought of Bucky, thought of the few times he had been near him after his capture, when he had clearly seen that haunted, starved look in his eyes, the tense set of his jaw, the clenched fists. And yet Steve had done nothing. He hadn't tried to help him, comfort him. He didn't know how.

He used to. Before the serum, Steve had so much empathy. But the serum must have stolen it away like a thief in the night, in its place putting a crude representation, a hard, stone exterior. It was easy to spot the difference, but not so easy to get the real thing back.

Steve didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just sat there and let Bruce fight for his consciousness on the floor, eyes squeezed shut. Beside him, Loki's eyes were sparkless, and in his lap, his nails dug into the sides of his hands. But Steve did nothing; he was a cold, cruel soldier, and all he knew was how to fight, without remorse, but he didn't know anything that could make him a real person again, instead of a lab-grown imitation of one.

"_Jesus, Steve. This shit is expensive." Bucky said, holding up the bottle, raising an eyebrow. "And it's not even Christmas. You sure know how to make a man feel like a king."_

Nearby, Tony shifted in sleep. Steve shook his shoulder, roughly, because Tony was a deep sleeper. But he was also a feeler, and if he woke up, he would know what to do, better than Steve, because he understood emotions and humanity and he wasn't made of chemicals.

By the time Tony had finally opened his eyes, Bruce was sitting up, alert. "You sure?" Steve heard him say.

"Yes," Loki replied. Loki must have snapped out of… whatever that was, and they must have been talking for a while, although Steve hadn't heard, because Tony was a stubborn bastard and refused to wake up, even when Steve shook him and slapped him across the face.

"What…" Tony broke off into a yawn. "S'goin on?" He didn't bother to sit up; his chin was melting into his chest, and his legs were spread crazily.

Bruce jabbed an elbow into his calf. "Move." His eyes snapped back to Loki. "Nothing hurts? You don't…"

"I am fine," Loki murmured. He sat straight, arms at his sides, but he let his hair, and the scattered braids, fall over his eyes. "Nothing hurts."

"I'm really sorry."

"My memory is fine, as well. I know you are sorry."

Bruce had this wounded look in his eyes that made Steve have to look away because it reminded him too strongly of Bucky.

Everything reminded him of Bucky.

"What happened?" Tony asked, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, cluelessly.

"I don't know," Bruce said, at the same time as Loki said, "Nothing."

Steve didn't say a word.


	14. Chapter 14

Hey guys. So... um... I did the thing. The Thing. That I swore I'd never do, and I really, really REALLY tried not to do, but... I'm not gonna finish this.

And I'm really bummed about that because for a time, I honestly loved this story! And I wanted to see it written out. But more than that, I wanted you amazing people to be able to read it. You gave me so much support - this was the first story that I actually felt people liked, and felt genuinely excited to post each chapter because I knew I would get amazing, wonderful, supportive comments that would send my self-esteem up into the sky - and you deserved to see it finished!

But, I don't know, I kind of started to hate it - and this happens a lot - second guessing everything about it to the point where I start to think it all sucks... and then I had a new idea that I actually liked way more and I started to write for that idea, and before I knew it, all my motivation for writing this story was gone.

I'm really sorry about that. But I do have more prewritten chapters. And I know somewhat how I INTENDED for this to end. So I can post those, and then give you all a summary of the rest. Because, honestly, I did get pretty close to the end

()()()

"_Kill them," Thanos said, as he leaned down to look Loki in the eyes. His boulder of a face twisted into a smile. "Or I will kill you._

"_Oh, but first you will suffer. I will break your bones," he reached out and gripped Loki's arm in between his fingers. Loki hissed in pain as he tightened his grip, squeezing, squeezing. He kept squeezing until the hiss turned to a groan, and to a desperate cry. Then he let go._

"_And I will cut you to pieces," Loki took an automatic step back, but behind him the Chitauri leered and there was no escape. Thanos stepped forward and lifted Loki's chin, delicately. Loki never saw the knife coming; it was from behind him, held by one of the Chitauri, and it sliced across the backs of his legs, making him scream and drop to his knees. Thanos' smile widened, a crack in the earth, an abyss formed after an earthquake. He knelt and lifted Loki's chin again, almost lovingly, running a finger along his jaw. _

"_And when you think I am finished, when you think you will finally be able to die, then you will know that the pain has only begun."_

_Thanos did not torture him; he was above that. Instead, he stepped back and watched as one of the Chitauri stepped forward and struck Loki in the side of the head. Stars fell on the edges of his vision, and his head jerked to the side, but he did not scream, he did not have time, for the next blow came to his side, a vicious kick. He sucked in a rasp of a breath and it tore from his lungs just as quickly, a cry to make stone hearts shatter and break, the driest eyes overflow with tears._

_He fell from his knees, onto his side, but they tangled their spiny fingers in his hair and lifted him like he was a dead animal, about to be roasted on a spit._

_A spear stabbed him through the shoulder, and Loki could not scream because his throat was filled with tears and vomit. All he did was choke. And he was ripped in two, and the cracks spread like wildfire. An earthquake tore him at the seams. It crumbled him. _

_It broke him._

"_But if you do kill them, you will be liberated. Loki Laufeyson, if you can only kill them, you shall be set free."_

()()()

When he had heard Thanos' voice, everything had gone dark. He didn't see the living room anymore. All he had seen was blood, trickling down his forehead, dripping into his eyes and stinging like acid.

And he saw himself, bruised, battered, broken on the ground before Thanos. He was frozen, as the Mad Titan's voice roared in his ears like an untamed, crashing sea.

"_Why aren't they dead? Do you think me a fool?"_

Loki could not reply. The others - Banner was all he could think of, but he knew there were more - would hear him, suspect him, kill him.

"_I want their heads on platters. I want their bones. I need them gone. Answer me!" _The Titan roared. "_Kill them, kill them, do not hesitate!"_

He had not been this angry earlier, but he was furious now.

But now he was gone, and Loki was sitting in the center of Banner, Rogers, and Stark, so much smaller than them, like some horrible metaphor he didn't want to know the meaning of. Pieces of his hair were braided. The air smelled of chocolate. Banner had tears in his eyes.

So easy. It would be so simple, if he had a knife, to grab Banner by the hair and slit his throat. He would stab Rogers in the heart and Stark in the chest and he would strangle Potts and it would be so easy. And now he had to, for Thanos had spoken to him and now he _had_ to.

But he didn't have a knife.

And he couldn't think. That voice in his head kept screaming, like he had at the hands of Thanos, with blood in his eyes, gasping for breath.

_It's not real._

_Thanos didn't speak to you!_

_You fool, you fool, you're broken and it's not real, can't you see?_

_Thanos never touched you, the Chitauri never tortured you. You should be sane but you aren't, and that's your own fault, because you always had too much pride to ask for help._

_Not that you deserve it._

_But don't you see? You wanted this - you wanted to kill them, and now you don't, and you are hiding from the truth because if you face it you'll die but that would be better than killing _them, _when they are more deserving of life than you, by thousands upon thousands of times._

Go away.

_You did this to yourself. You put me here. _

No.

"Loki?"

It was Banner.

"What?" Loki snapped.

"You weren't responding, again. Just staring, at nothing. Are you okay?"

"I am _fine._" Loki hissed.

Nothing was wrong with him. He did nothing wrong. Those memories were real, and he wasn't broken, and he deserved to live…

Please. Just let him deserve to live. It was all he had to keep him above water, his need for life, the enduring fight for air. It was a lighthouse in a churning, deadly sea. At least let him deserve it. He wouldn't ask for anything more.

_Ha! Unlikely._

_You are always greedy. Filthy little fingers, grasping at everything that is not yours to take._

"Loki!"

Loki blinked, and the world came back into focus. Stark was beside Banner now, snapping his fingers in front of Loki's face. Loki drew back in irritation.

"Okay, good. Focus on my face, okay? You keep zoning out. Do you know why?"

Loki ignored him.

Instead, he traced the lines of Stark's throat with his eyes. His fingers itched to close around it. And squeeze.

Why did his eyes burn?

"Sorry, Bruce," he heard Stark say. He couldn't see him, because the blackness was closing in again, the endless black and he couldn't see, or think, or do anything but fall forever.

Two hands clamped down on his shoulders. Stark was looking intently into his eyes. "Loki. Stay awake. What's going on with you? Focus on my eyes and my voice. What's wrong?"

The truth. The truth would convince them, the truth would set him free.

"Thanos," he whispered. "He is in my head. Speaking to me. Taunting me."

_Lies. He never taunted you._

_Never even spoke._

_Why can't you remember?_

"Every time he speaks, I cannot see. Hear." Loki raised his hand from his lap, but there was no purpose in it, and he dropped it back down. "Feel."

"What's going on?"

Stark turned his head. "Pepper…" He said, softly. "You should go."

Loki let out a breath. He raised his chin.

A pause. Then, "Okay." Retreating, clicking footsteps.

Stark removed his hands from Loki's shoulders. Loki raised his chin even higher, allowing Stark to inspect him, for he would not find any flaws, Loki would not let him.

He was sick of appearing broken. Hadn't he already shown them enough?

_They only want to help you._

_You could show them everything and they, in their foolish compassion, would not even condemn you for what you have done._

Stark snapped his fingers. "Loki."

Loki let out another breath.

This was concerning. He couldn't stay awake when the voice began to speak. He wanted to stay awake. He hated the unending dark.

"Loki. Talk to me. What did Thanos say? You can tell us. I swear. We'll listen, and we won't… hurt you. Or whatever you think we'd do. We won't, I _promise."_

Banner pursed his lips and did not speak, but Loki could hear his voice echoing in his mind. "_Doctor's vow."_

_Don't lie to them._

_Don't._

_Please._

It wasn't a lie. Loki wasn't a liar, he was good… good enough to deserve the breath in his lungs, he _was._

He licked his lips. His throat was dry. His lips hurt where he had bitten them.

_Keep biting, keep hurting._

_Maybe it'll drive me away. Maybe I won't have to _feel _this._

_I wish… it wasn't so cold._

It wasn't cold. Loki wasn't cold. He _wasn't._

Stark's hand fell on his shoulder again and Loki jerked away, out of spite.

Banner made a low noise in his throat. Stark dropped his hand to his side. "Sorry," he said.

_"I'm sorry, Thor!" Loki called after his brother's retreating back, his stiff, angry steps, and the broken spear in his clenched fists._

_Thor didn't acknowledge him._

_"I'm sorry…"_

"Thank you." Loki said. Because he couldn't show how angry he was at them, how much he hated the insignificant ants. So he acted, like he always did. He was not like Thor. He was not strong enough to bear the burden of truth, because he had so much truth to tell.

But truth would bring them closer, wind them around his finger. These gullible ants, they would only begin to trust him if they thought they knew who he was.

So Loki took a deep breath.

"He said he will kill me. If I leave, for even a moment, he will descend from the sky and strike me down."

He bit his lip.

"And I am defenseless here. It is only for you that he has not killed me yet." Loki's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "But that does not mean he cannot find a way to torture me. He _always_ has a way. They say…" he recited, tonelessly, remembering a passage from one of the books in the library. "'Destruction follows the Titan like a violent shadow. He stands still and silent as a stone, and behind him, everything burns.'

"He thinks the fire will bring beautiful growth. A utopia, maybe, or a new age. That is what he still tells me, over and over again. He doesn't stop." Loki shuddered. "I hate him."

_You mean I don't stop._

_Thanos has only spoken to you twice._

_But I have spoken to you hundreds of times, and I won't stop._

_Do you hate me?_

His hands clenched and unclenched, but he wasn't trying to do it. It was like something was working from within his body, taking him over in subtle ways. His fists wouldn't stop clenching.

Outside, rain fell in torrents against the window. He could see it lashing and circling outside. Gray, blurred sky.

"If I only had my _magic_," Loki spat, striking his knee with his fist. "I could be safe from him. And I could block him out, I could be _free _from him, finally, after such a long time..."

A million shards of glass mutated, rising up out of the dust, hissing and spitting with blood in his mind. They mutated into the bracelets around his wrists, circling and circling, red. If he only had his magic, they would disappear, and everything would be fixed.

"But you won't give it to me," Loki allowed his eyes to widen, allowed himself to back away from them.

"It's dangerous," Stark said. "It would explode. It might kill you, and kill anyone standing near enough to touch you, or remove your bracelets. It's too dangerous. But I'll find a way, just give me more time…"

"No. No, there is no time. But you don't care, do you? You don't _care_! You would let me _die_! You would let _him_ have me, again, but I cannot go back to that place, it would kill me… it would break me, and I am already broken, I'm already _insane_ and I can't _think_…"

He hadn't meant to say that.

He hadn't meant to start to hyperventilate, either.

But the memories of Thanos were so strong, overpowering in their ferocity, taking over his mind with the dull screaming he remembered, the horror from before as flesh melted from his hands, burning and burning again with red and red and too much red.

Blood, blood, blood, sickly sweet, running in rivers down his white skin, dripping from his fingers. The glint of glass, the burning behind his eyes.

_That was you._

_You did that._

_But you never listen. _

_It's hopeless, isn't it? You never listen - so we're going to die._

"Loki _look_ at me. Loki, can you see me? I'm right _here_." It was Banner. Maybe. He couldn't see.

"_Laufeyson, my favorite plaything._

"_My broken little toy."_

Heavy, stone fingers. A sharpness. Pain, excruciating pain.

He opened his eyes and screamed at them.

"No! I'm mad, I'm evil, I'm a worthless monster!" he pulled at his hair like he was insane, like he was in a padded room, rocking on his heels in the corner, and the image made him feel sick.

It wasn't true, was it? Why was he saying those things? But he couldn't stop. Couldn't get his mind under control, couldn't stop yelling. It was like the words were someone else's, and he was forced to vomit them out through his lips. It all tasted like acid, because it _wasn't_ true. If he was worthless, why would he want to live?

If he didn't want to live, he wouldn't have anything left.

Only his pounding heart, his erratic breathing, two things to add to the long list of things he despised about himself. Things he wanted to fix.

All of him would be broken - not only his mind but every functioning piece of his body would be a twisted lie because if he was alive, that would mean he was _malfunctioning..._

Stark reached out a hand, and Rogers shifted, coming nearer to him. But Banner shook his head, wordlessly, and they backed away, and Loki waited until he once again had control, until he no longer wanted to shout things that weren't true, and until the small piece of him that wanted them to come closer, to hold him, anchor him, that hated when they backed away from him like he was an injured, cornered animal, had gone.

"You're not," Banner said. He sounded helpless, like it was all he could say, even though he knew it wouldn't be enough.

But Loki knew that. He knew perfectly well that he wasn't mad, wasn't evil or worthless. He wasn't a monster. He couldn't fathom why he had said it.

He wanted to sleep.

_But that would be so dark…_

_Don't make me go to sleep._

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll stay quiet, just don't make me…_

Loki shoved the voice away.

"I am tired," he said.

"Loki…"

"You sure?"

"Hey, you can talk to us."

"I need to rest," Loki insisted. He stood up, did not wobble, and began to make his way to the elevator. Long, graceful steps, like he was known for. Not a trace that anything was wrong, because nothing _was_ wrong.

_You sound like you're trying to convince yourself._

Loki scowled.

"Hey!" Stark was suddenly in front of him. "You're not going back to the hospital room, are you? Bruce told me you want a normal room, and I agree." He grinned. "So come on, Olive, and I'll show you where the Asgardian princes sleep."

"Olive?" Banner asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stark sighed dramatically. "Come on, guys. _All of_ the other reindeer?"

To his surprise, because Loki didn't understand the attempt at a joke, Banner burst out laughing, and even Rogers cracked a smile. Stark crossed his arms, looking smug. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a genius. Anyway, come on," and he set off to the staircase. They went up one flight, and into a hallway, and with a dramatic wave of his hand, Stark opened a door.

It was the biggest room Loki had been in so far, other than the living room. And a wide window, through which he could see the city and the sky. But best of all, there was a real bed. Not a hospital cot, not the floor of a glass cell, not jagged stone. A real bed, like the one in his room in Asgard. Wide enough to sprawl upon, to sink into. Loki couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.

"You like it, Olive?" Stark and the other two were crowded behind him. Stark turned towards Banner, smirking. "That's one point for Tony Stark!"

"I wasn't aware we had a point system going on here," Banner said.

"When it comes to me, there's always a point system. Whoever makes Olive the happiest gets a point." Stark smiled, and it seemed infectious, as Banner and Rogers smiled, as well. Loki didn't know what to do with his face. "We used to play this game when my dad was pissed cause of work, or whatever," he said. "Me and my mom. We'd make him food and stuff, and if he smiled, or seemed mildly intrigued, we'd get a point. Mom always won, but," he shrugged. "It was a fun game."

"That does sound fun," Banner said, voice suddenly soft.

Pathetic ants - running to fill his every need, falling at his feet. When Loki smiled, they felt like their lives had reached their purpose, apparently. Unsurprising. It was pathetic.

It was.

"Well, Olive, guess we'll see ya later," Stark said. "By the way, Steve's making quiche…"

"What?"

Stark clapped a hand on Rogers' shoulder. "Didn't I tell you? Oh, sorry about that. Guess you'll have to cancel those super-important, and existant, evening plans, huh?" He snapped a finger as he left. "Oh, and it better be cheesy, or I'll throw it out the window!"

Rogers and Banner exchanged what appeared to be a knowing glance, full of amusement. Then Banner's smile vanished, as his eyes fell on Loki.

"Bye," Banner said. Fiddling with his hands. "I'm sorry. Again. Sorry."

"What happened?" Rogers asked. He said it like he had been wondering for a long time, and finally hadn't been able to stop himself from saying it, against his better judgement. Thor's voice sounded like that often.

"Here. You, go make quiche," Banner pressed a finger to Rogers' chest, pushing him slightly towards the door. "And keep in mind, if you're too heavy for Tony to throw you out the window, I can definitely finish the job. A quiche isn't quiche without cheese. Nothing is anything without cheese. Anyway, bye. See you. Sayonara."

"You'll tell me later."

"Maybe."

But Rogers didn't leave. Instead, he crossed to where Loki was standing in the middle of the room. "And you," he said. "Whatever you think, whatever you were saying, it isn't true. I'm not good at talking so I'll keep it short, but here's the deal: you aren't crazy, you aren't broken, you aren't evil. Whatever he told you, it isn't true. And we'll never let you die. I'll talk to Tony about giving you your magic back, okay? Who knows, he might already be on the same page. But I'll talk to him. Is that okay?"

Loki nodded, quickly, before Rogers could change his mind.

He thought of power in his veins again, so much a part of him it was like his own blood. He felt so empty without it. If he had his magic back, everything would be all right.

"Okay," Rogers said. He brushed past Banner, and they glanced at each other, and then he was gone.

"Hi," Banner said.

He was in the doorway, leaning against it. Loki felt exposed in the center of the room, so he backed away and sat on the bed. Banner didn't move towards him, and Loki was grateful for that, but his skin still crawled when Banner's eyes fell upon him, because they held so much knowledge, and his gaze was heavy.

"So, it's fine if you don't want to forgive me. You said 'thank you' but that's different, and who knows, you might have said it to make me stop pestering you. But look. I want you to know that I mean it when I say I'm sorry, and even if it annoys you, I won't stop saying it, because I genuinely feel awful, for what I did, because it made you angry, and scared. That's… negative points, for me. A shit ton of negative points.

"But I wasn't lying when I said I would never leave you alone."

Loki flinched. Stubbornly, avoided Banner's gaze, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Even if you hate me, I won't leave you alone. I won't let you get hurt again. Because I'm your friend."

Loki jerked his head up at that, to see that Banner had come closer, and bent his knees so they were at eye level.

"And friends don't let friends get hurt, if they can do anything about it. I can. But I'll try my best to make you feel comfortable - we don't have to talk about anything you don't want to talk about, and I won't try to touch you, and if I'm making you feel scared or… or whatever, just tell me and I'll back off. Okay?"

This ant thought he could frighten Loki?

No, Loki was only frightened by the darkness, and the blood and the pain of Thanos. It was the only thing that tormented him in his dreams, the only thing he could not bear to think of.

The ant was inconsequential. A mere speck of sand in the beach that was the universe, and he would soon be caught up in the tossing waves and hurled beneath water, and drown, and be no more. Anything he could do to Loki would end in only a few decades, and it would hardly hurt.

But whatever had left him like that, broken on Stark's doorstep, had hurt more than anything Loki had ever felt before.

_You are truly broken, aren't you?_

Banner was waiting for an answer.

Loki twisted the bedsheet in his fists. "If you wish," he said, because that would hurt Banner.

Banner's face fell. "No, Loki," he said. He continued to speak, but Loki did not hear him.

_No, Loki._

Loki jerked backwards, back hitting the wall. "_What_ did you say to me?" he snapped, feet and hands scrambling for a hold on the mattress. It was brief, but it was horrific, the sudden flash of memory, invading his mind like a Chitauri army, waving spears and crushing him beneath their heels. Crowding outside of his cell and laughing at him.

"_No, Loki."_

_And Odin's face grew smaller, and smaller, and Loki didn't know why but _oh_, yes, he had let go, hadn't he?_

_Had he thought about it? Considered holding on? Or had it been a reflex, programmed into his skin, automatic, the urge to fall?_

_Thor screamed after him._

_But did not try to catch him._

_And Loki knew, that if Thor had tried, he would have twisted and fought with all his strength to push Thor away, so that he could plummet._

_Because he wanted to die._

_Little did he know the horrors that awaited below._

"All I said was…. Hey, stop biting your lip. It's all red. I think it's bleeding," Banner said.

"_Who are you to tell me what to do?_

"_What to feel?_

"_Pathetic mortal, I am your king."_

Loki did not say it because his teeth were too firmly embedded into the skin of his lip, like arrows in the wall of the training grounds of Asgard, a thorny backdrop Loki had often seen as he spun, and blue smoke trailed lazily from his hands, and he smiled at it like it was an old friend.

Practicing endlessly in the dead of night, too ashamed to let them see his secret love - the colors as they twirled, the power at his fingertips - a woman's strategy, a weak man's strength.

Gone.

"What's wrong?" Banner was holding his hands out in front of him, like he thought Loki was about to attack him, and Loki hated it. "What did I say?"

Loki forced himself to calm down. He couldn't have a _panic attack_ every time someone mentioned Odin. Or anything else on the quickly growing list of things that were likely to induce panic in him.

"Nothing. I'm fine," he said.

Banner raised an eyebrow.

"I want my magic," Loki said.

"I know. We're talking about it."

"Thanos will kill me."

"He'll have to get through me, first."

"He will."

"I'm sorry. I wish we could give it to you. But it's hard to know."

"Know what?"

The look in Banner's eyes said - _whether you are a stone-cold killer, whether you deserve to fall under the hand of Thanos, whether you deserve a glass cell and torture for the rest of your life._

Instead, he said, "For one thing, how to safely remove them. Your magic is there, on the bracelets, steadily rising in power. It's like - uh - it's like you're breathing, and we're catching your breaths in a container. The container isn't growing, it's just getting more pressurized in there. I guess we should have thought about that before putting them on your wrists, but we didn't know how your magic worked, and apparently it was the easiest way to contain it - the power circling around in the metal. But what will happen when we take them off? It'll go out of control.

"And when your magic is back, Fury might be able to detect it. That's a bigger issue. I think we should have told you about that before now, but I didn't want to freak you out, but I guess… yeah, he'll know you're here."

Loki stiffened.

_No, no, Thanos can't find me, don't let him…_

_I don't want to die, I don't._

_Even though I keep saying I do, I don't mean it, I swear, you have to believe me._

_I want to stay here._

Loki, the real Loki, didn't want to die either, and couldn't let Thanos have him.

But if he had his magic, surely he would be able to kill them before Fury got him? It wouldn't be difficult. Unless his magic returned slowly, unless his magic had been damaged by the bracelets…

It was a risk he had to take.

_Do you honestly believe that?_

"So," Banner said. "Probably best you don't have it for a while. Or not. Hell, I don't know. If Thanos knows you're here, why hasn't he attacked us by now, if he's so strong?"

"He does not believe he is as powerful as you," Loki said, dully, hating the taste of the lie on his mouth.

No, Thanos knew he was stronger than them. The only reason he hadn't attacked yet was that Loki was still his creature, his little, broken toy. (That was what Thanos thought, not Loki. Loki knew he wasn't broken.)

"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there?" Banner said, idiotically, smiling.

Loki could not say anything. He could not disagree, for that would expose his lie. But he could not agree, for he wanted to throw up (and he couldn't do that, not again, not in front of Banner), and if he tried to speak, he surely would. So he remained silent and tried not to shake.

Banner moved to a chair soon after, and produced a book from somewhere on his person, pulled a pair of glasses out of his pocket, put them on, and began to read.

Unfair of him. Cruel of him. Like he was drinking whisky in front of an alcoholic.

So long since Loki had read a book, had breathed in the pages, had lost himself in them. He wanted to lose himself. Ached to lose himself.

()()()

_It was something he had known about for decades; the blatant racism of Asgard. It fascinated him as deeply as it disgusted him, but being an Aesir, not to mention a prince, he would never have to worry about it, and thus did not concern himself with it overly._

_However, his morbid fascination sometimes led him to the library, sometimes to his little corner behind the rows of shelves. Over the years, he had found certain books, certain passages, and he knew them like the back of his hand, because, for some reason, he had continued to reread them, over and over again. As if, for some morbid reason, he enjoyed torturing himself, enjoyed forcing himself to digest the words, retch on them, and consume them again._

"_The order of the Nine Realms is clear: Aesir first, as the supreme beings. All others fall after them. And then, of course, at the bottom of the list; those groveling, foul blue pieces of dirt known as Frost Giants. Nothing but killers, liars, and thieves. It is in their nature, marked down on their bones, and in their blood. There are no good Frost Giants, and there never will be."_

_So the seeds of his brokenness were planted, years in advance. For when he discovered the truth, he remembered, immediately, what he had read. He did not have to return to the library and read it again, but his memory used to be perfect and he knew them by heart._

()()()

"How do you make quiche, anyway?" Steve asked, staring at the contents of the fridge, which were sparse. He guessed Tony hadn't gone shopping since Pepper left.

"Chef Rogers doesn't know how to make _quiche_?" Tony put a hand over his heart. "Blasphemy. But don't worry, I got you covered." He pushed Steve aside, which was only possible because Steve stepped away, and dug around before taking out - "Premade quiche!" He showed it to Steve with a flourish, grinning. "I know, you're flabbergasted, aren't you? Back in your day you had to grind your own flour, and that was only for the _crust_."

Steve took the quiche with exaggerated stiffness, jerking it out of Tony's hands as if he was angry. He read the label. "Cook for thirty minutes."

Tony wagged a winger at him. "Tsk, tsk. Looks like someone hasn't fully appreciated my genius yet. _My_ super-sweet, _modified_ oven should do the same in five. Stick it in, Chef Rogers." He coughed lightly, putting a hand over his mouth, eyes gleaming mischievously.

"Seriously?"

"Sorry."

Steve put the quiche in the oven, which preheated to 300 in only ten seconds. Then he stood, and leaned against the counter, arms folded.

"Is that your 'serious position'?" Tony asked, grinning and folding his own arms, and leaning in the same way.

"No."

"Mm_hmm_."

Steve turned his head to look out the window, hiding a smile.

"But seriously," Tony's tone changed, and he pushed himself away from the counter. "Is something up? Besides the obvious, of course. But for a while there, all you did was sit in the kitchen… kind of like me, I guess, always in my room," he laughed, and Steve couldn't tell if it was forced, or if he actually thought it was funny. "But is something up, big guy? Come on, you can tell me. I need to get in my Steve points, too."

Steve looked at him, impassively. Wasn't it obvious? "I was in 1944 three weeks ago."

Tony's lips thinned into a line. "But you're here now. You can't just…" he picked up a glass that was on the counter, full of amber liquid, and examined it. "Waste your life."

"I'm not."

Tony smiled. "Yeah, I know. Seems like that, doesn't it? Seems like, if you only stay away from everything for a _little_ bit longer, your head will suddenly clear and you'll understand the secrets of the universe." He set the glass back down. "Newsflash. Doesn't work like that."

But Tony hadn't lost everyone and everything he cared about, and been thrown into a world he didn't understand. Tony hadn't lost his best friend.

But, Tony had lost his parents, just like Steve. And there were probably things Tony hadn't told him - something bad enough to make him drink until he went numb, and did nothing but stare at the ceiling.

"There was this kid. Bucky." Steve said. "Once."

Tony sat on the counter, legs dangling. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Cap, but I'll listen."

Steve shook his head, smiling. "No. He… well, we did everything together. One time we went on this rollercoaster, at Coney Island, and I threw up. And there was the time he passed out because he drank too much - actually, that happened more than once." He turned his head from Tony, looking out the window. "We had this joke - about which one of us would get into a newspaper first. Every time one of us did something stupid, we'd run to get the paper the next morning, and pretend to be surprised when nothing was there. I got into the paper first, of course. But… I'm sure you can guess what happened… well, he ended up in the paper, too."

"And you were staying away from us because…?"

"I don't know. I kept thinking about him." _He was supposed to be with me until the end of the line._

"Word of advice, from a guy who hasn't followed it. You'll never get ahead by staying in the same place."

"Yeah."

Tony smiled, warmly, walked to Steve and clapped a hand down on his shoulder. "Good talk." Something beeped. "Looks like your quiche is ready."

()()()

Banner must have noticed him staring.

"Do you want to read it?" he asked, holding up his book.

"No," Loki choked out. His mind was filled with words.

"Sure?"

"I don't want to read it," Loki repeated, with more force. He had changed his mind. He didn't want to read a book ever again.

"Is something wrong?" Banner set the book on his knee, and pushed his glasses up his nose, concern in his eyes. Concern that Loki hated.

"_No_," he hissed. Why wouldn't the ant listen to him? Believe him? Leave him alone?

A voice crackled through the air like a whip.

**Hey, Olive and… another inventive nickname. Food's up! Oh, and that's a point each for Steve and me. He made it, but I get to announce it **_**and**_ **make everyone laugh because I'm hilarious. So, Bruce, looks like you're not doing too hot, bud. Better step it up!**

**But, seriously, get your asses down here. Tony out.**

Loki did not move. He was hungry, but he would stay here. He wondered if Banner would sacrifice his dinner to stay with him. He wouldn't mind watching Banner go hungry. Maybe Banner would throw up because of the pain of hunger pangs, and Loki wouldn't be the only one out of the two of them to be so deeply humiliated.

_But Banner has no scars on his skin._

_No scars carved by his own hands._

"Are you gonna go get some food?" Banner asked. One leg was crossed over the other, tapping at the air. He flipped a page.

"No. I am not hungry."

"Oh. Okay. Jarvis, tell Steve to bring two plates of quiche up here, ASAP."

**At once, sir.**

"I am _not_ hungry." Why wouldn't the ant _listen_ to him when he spoke?

Banner shrugged. "Maybe. But you might get hungry when you smell it. Wouldn't want you to miss out."

()()()

"_I'm not hungry," Loki insisted, again and again._

"_Of course you are. It's your brother's thousandth. You have to eat. It's disrespectful not to," Odin said. _

_But Loki's appetite had fled when he looked out at the dizzying crowd - so many Aesir, all packed together like bundles of sticks, clamoring for attention. There were so many vibrant colors, all muddled. So many scents, twisted together like a rope. So much of everything that it overwhelmed him, and it stole the emptiness from his stomach. He was so much younger then, and he hated the sense of all those people, so close, all around him,_

"_I'm not hungry," he said, again._

"_Nonsense. We told you not to eat before the celebration. You must learn from your disobedience, Loki. I command you to eat." Odin said, before turning away and taking his seat at his throne._

_Loki slid into a seat beside Thor, not listening to the talk and the laughter shared by him and his loud friends. He didn't care what they had to say. He felt too sick for that._

_He picked at the food when he felt Odin's eyes on him._

_Bastard._

_So he ate, and ate. Chicken legs, slathered in butter. Heaps upon heaps of potatoes. And all around him - the din of noise, the icy cell closing in, as the people cheered for Thor when he ascended the steps of his throne._

_Later, Loki threw up all his dinner._

_He never told Odin._

()()()

A weak stomach. One of his many faults.

It was common among Frost Giants.

_But it was not all so bad._

_Why do you only remember the unhappy times?_

"Banner," he said. "I would rather not eat."

Evidently, Banner had not so quickly forgotten the promise he had made only minutes before, that if Loki grew uncomfortable, he would stop whatever he was doing, because he nodded quickly, and said, "Sorry, yeah, okay. I was just worried. Sorry."

Always worried.

How fragile did he think Loki was?

_He is only trying to help, he's just concerned…_

"I don't want your _concern_," Loki said, in a voice so laden with bitterness, it was a wonder it did not stick in his throat, it was a wonder it was not so heavy that it ripped through his neck. He stood from the bed, and it was wonderful to be so much taller than Banner, so high above him, like being a king again. "I don't need it."

Banner put the book on the floor, cautiously. "Sorry."

"And _stop_ apologizing. Empty words. Prove it. Prove it, I _dare _you."

It rose up behind his eyes - a cracked, howling beast, clawing at him with such intense emotions, so many he couldn't describe or name or understand. He blinked back a sudden wave of disgusting tears.

(I dare you, I dare you.)

(I dare you to die.)

It hurt in his chest, and it spread until it made his hands shake, his fingertips grow numb. Numb… cold. Was his skin turning blue? Panicked, he looked down at his hands, but they were still pale and white.

_A flimsy shield to cover the monster that lies beneath._

But he felt like ice.

The door opened, and Rogers was there, holding two steaming plates of quiche. And Banner was staring at him, eyes dripping with _worry_ and _pity_ for the pathetic, puny god, and it was all a lie - couldn't they see? - because Loki was _not_ pathetic he was a _king_ and they were his subjects, and he wouldn't _let_ them treat him this way.

"Get _out_!" he screamed, backing away until he fell onto the bed, and backing away more until his back hit the wall. "Leave me alone!"

()()()

"_Loki? Are you okay? I thought I heard you throwing up…"_

_Loki retched again, and wiped the vomit from his lips, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked so hollow._

"_Loki?"_

_And suddenly, his chest burned with anger, and he was shouting before he understood why. Shouting at Thor to leave, to never come back, because Loki hated him and always would, always would._

_Finally, the shouting stopped, and ended in something halfway between a whisper and a sob. Loki folded his arms on the sink and dropped his head into them and didn't stir when he heard Thor's retreating footsteps, slow, even, and fading, and gone._

_He was alone._

_And he only felt worse._

()()()

His plan was falling apart.

He was supposed to keep them close. Supposed to fool them into thinking they could trust him enough to return his magic, but that had already failed, hadn't it? They wouldn't return his magic. And now he was taking the tender bond of trust he had forged between them, and crushing it between his fists. As if he wanted to die.

And he didn't stop screaming, for if he stopped screaming he would start crying.

But his anger had already gone, and now the screaming hurt his throat, and felt empty and raw. He balled his fists and dug in his nails and the pain somehow rounded the edges of his ragged voice, and was able to shove it back down his throat, and he was able to return to silence without bringing tears to his eyes.

The screams echoed. And Loki was a dead man walking, but he was beyond caring so he let his head fall into his hands. The slight shuddering of his shoulders was because his eyes were wet and tears were threatening to fall and his breath kept hitching, sobs threatening to overwhelm him.

He didn't see them go.

But when he looked up, he was alone.

"_I'll never leave you alone again."_

Liar.

They were all liars.

Loki struggled to hold back his (_pathetic)_ tears. They kept rising up behind his eyes, because (_you are not a king, you are broken, broken and sad)_ everything was falling apart.

He didn't deserve this.

He had done nothing wrong.

Thanos had (done nothing to you) hurt him. He had. And Loki had done (everything) nothing to deserve it, he had simply fallen, and Thanos had forced him to fall further, and now here he was, still falling. None of it his fault. He did not have to feel guilt, regret, because he was innocent.

Those were shackles he would never have to bear. The heaviest of bonds were _not his_.

He was (_a murderer, with hands dripping blood)_ innocent.

He was (_a monster, and not because of his blue skin)_ good.

Deep down.

He was good.

_Liar. Always a liar._

_Filthy._

_Evil._

_Worthless._

_Insane._

_And broken, forever._

_Listen to me. Look at me, Loki, and listen. _

_You can't do this anymore. Can't lie. It's useless. Do you know how broken you'll be when you know the truth? _

_Shattered beyond repair._

_And the longer you wait, the worse you will be._

_It may be hopeless already._

_But if there is even a shadow of a glimmer of hope, I want it. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life._

Loki didn't understand what these thoughts meant. But he wanted them to stop.

Go away, go away, leave me alone…

_No._

Loki struck the mattress with his fists. He brought them down against the wall, but it did nothing but shoot pain up his arms. He tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled. He gasped, desperately, for air.

_Listen to me._

_Listen well, Laufeyson._

_Or I will torture you with my voice until you are too numb to move, too numb to resist._

_You will listen, and you will stop this madness. You will end this lie, and the truth will wash over you, red-hot, and it will break you, finally and forever. _

_You will be a mindless creature, rocking back-and-forth on its heels and sobbing into its hands but it is a price I am willing to pay because I will not let you kill them._

_So listen._

_I dare you._


End file.
